


Escape

by SigmaCreations



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bubble Bath, F/M, Hypothermia, Kidnapping, Near Death, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 92,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2127633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaCreations/pseuds/SigmaCreations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 4.3, Ruth is sent into the field and gets into trouble again. Can Harry find and rescue her in time? Told from Ruth's POV. Kudos owns their characters and the rest are my own. Please review if you have a moment. Cheers, S.C.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Present day – Thursday, 20th October 2005_

 

She's tired and cold, so very cold. All she wants to do is stay curled up here and sleep forever, welcome the oblivion. She has no energy left to move. But as she lets herself sink into the wet sand, her last thoughts are of him, his frown, his smile, his warm, expressive, hazel eyes, his rich, tender voice calling her name, and something inside her comes to life again, a spark of determination, a spark of hope. He'd saved her life and she doesn't have the right to throw it away like this. He'd pushed her out of the way of the rocks when they'd been thrown against them, shielding her with his body, protecting her. And then she'd lost him. He'd given her the only life vest, and when he'd been knocked unconscious by the blow, she hadn't been able to hold onto him. She'd tried; she'd tried desperately to hold him, to keep his face out of the water, but the waves and the current had been too strong and he'd slipped from her numb fingers and had been swallowed up by the sea.

 

_Two days ago – Tuesday, 18th October_

 

She's scared, so very scared. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was just going to be another small field op, like last time, and she'd been excited about it. Harry was trusting her again, obviously pleased with her performance before. What was it he'd said? “I've no doubt you'll pull it off with the same aplomb as last time, Ruth.” She smiles briefly as she remembers his warm voice and gentle gaze as he'd said it. So she'd gone out to meet the mark, but something had gone wrong. He'd known who she was, and before she could react, she'd been knocked out by a blow to the back of the head.

When she'd come to, she'd discovered that she was on some kind of boat. She could tell from the salty smell of the air and the way the floor pitched slightly. The room, or rather cabin, had been pitch black, but someone was sitting close to her; she could hear their breathing. “Who's there?” she'd asked in alarm.

“It's me, Adam,” Adam had replied, “You okay?”

She'd sighed in relief and then began to pay attention to her physical condition for the first time. Her head hurt, but there was no other pain except from the ties digging into her wrists where they'd bound her hands together behind her back. “Yes,” she'd said. “Just a headache. They knocked me out. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he'd replied. “My leg's a bit painful. They kicked my knee in when I tried to run. Otherwise, I'm fine.”

“Where are we? How long have we been here? What are they going to do with us? How did they know?” she'd asked, the questions tumbling out one after another.

“On a boat,” he'd answered, “somewhere off the East coast. I don't know what they know. They haven't asked anything yet. We'll just have to wait and see.”

So now they're sitting close together, having found each other in the dark, and are waiting, for what, neither of them knows. Hopefully, to be rescued. Please, Harry, she begs silently, please find us.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Present day – Thursday, 20th October_

 

But perhaps it's not too late. Perhaps he's also been washed up on the shore, perhaps she can find him. She _must_ find him; she's his only hope. She forces herself to sit up and then stand, her muscles screaming in protest, her hands, feet and face numb, and her whole body trembling from the cold. She staggers for a few steps up the beach, away from relentless pull of the waves as they crash against her legs and knock her over, sucking her towards the sea. The tide must be turning, she realises in a panic as she pushes herself upright again, gritting her teeth in determination.

Once clear of the surf, she turns and looks up and down the beach. She can't see anything. It's almost pitch black and the rain is falling in sheets. She blinks rapidly to clear her vision and raises a shaking hand to shield her eyes from the rain, desperately scanning the area along the surf for any sign of Harry. With every flash of lightning, she can make out the rocks at either end of the beach, sticking out into the ocean, and she can hear the waves pummelling into them. It's rather like being in a nightclub with those flashing black lights that illuminate everything for a few seconds at a time. Only the pulses of light here are less frequent and there is no sign of life, just the desolate landscape of an isolated beach in a storm.

 

_Yesterday morning – Wednesday, 19th October_

 

It's wonderful to come out on deck and smell the fresh air though she has to blink rapidly and scrunch her eyes up to shield them from the light after being kept so long in the dark. As the man leading her forwards roughly pulls her to an abrupt halt, her eyes have adjusted somewhat and she can see that they've docked somewhere remote. There's just a fisherman's hut next to the narrow, wooden jetty, and being lead along it towards her and Adam, who is standing beside her, his hands bound behind his back, is Harry.

“I've kept my end of the bargain,” he says, his voice carrying clearly over to them. “Let them go.”

“I don't think so,” the dark haired man standing in front of Harry answers with a laugh. “Why would I let them go when I can keep all three of you for insurance until it's over?” He laughs again and tells his men, “Put him inside with the others.”

At that moment, however, several things happen at once. Three Land Rovers appear out of nowhere and Ruth sees Zaf lean out of the passenger window of the first car and begin shooting. Harry takes a dive into the man on his right, sending him careering off balance into the sea, Adam pitches his weight against the man holding Ruth by the arms and yells for her to run. She attempts to do just that, but loses her footing and falls onto the deck. Next thing she knows, she's being yanked to her feet and hoisted onto someone's shoulders before she's carried down below again, desperately kicking to break free. But even before she's locked back into the cabin, she can feel the yacht begin to move again, speeding away from her rescuers.

“You're going to pay for that, you little bitch,” the man who throws her unceremoniously onto the floor growls near her ear before he turns and leaves, locking the door behind him.

She lies there, cowering in the corner in fear. They haven't brought Adam back, and even though part of her hopes this means that he's escaped and is safe with Zaf and the others, another part of her desperately wishes him back to comfort her. It's so much more terrifying on her own. She can well imagine the fate that awaits her at the hands of these madmen. Rape certainly, torture possibly, and if she's lucky, a quick death by gunshot. If she's not, they might dump her overboard to drown. She shivers at the thought and almost jumps when the door opens again.

She scrambles to her feet, pressing herself against the wall of the cabin furthest from the door. The man who brought her in earlier laughs at her fear and says, “Not yet, sweetheart. The boss still has things for me to do. I've brought you a friend.” Then he turns and pulls Harry into the room, shoving him hard towards her and laughing as he stumbles a little. “I'll be back later,” he says and pauses for a moment as he pulls the door to, grinning wickedly and adding, “And you can watch, mate.” Then chuckling to himself, he closes and locks the door.

She feels tears spring to her eyes and a small sob escapes her lips as she crouches down against the cabin wall. She's never been so scared in her life before. When she feels movement close to her, she looks up in alarm only to find Harry gazing at her in concern, his eyes gentle and kind as he murmurs her name. “Harry,” she breathes in relief and gives him an almost smile, the best she can manage right now. He moves next to her and sits down with his back against the wall and she instinctively turns towards him, pressing her face into his shoulder as she fights to hold in the tears that threaten to escape.

“Shhhhh...” he murmurs softly and she's sure she feels his lips press gently against her hair. “I won't let them hurt you, Ruth. I promise. We'll find a way to get out of this mess.”

She nods, drawing courage from his words and solid presence. “Adam?” she asks as she lifts her head to look at him.

“I don't know,” he shakes his head. “He fell overboard and his hands were tied, but they got us out of there pretty quick, so I hope Zaf had a chance to get to him in time.”

She nods and they're quiet for a few moments before she asks, “What are we going to do, Harry?”


	3. Chapter 3

_Present day – Thursday, 20th October_

 

She can't just stand here; she has to find him. “Harry,” she calls in desperation as she begins to walk as fast as she can manage along the beach towards the rocks that are nearest to her. Surely those must be the rocks they'd crashed into earlier. She calls his name again, but the wind is so strong that she's sure he wouldn't be able to hear her even if she was standing right next to him. A flash of lighting illuminates the landscape again and she sees a shape that could be a man several yards away, just round the side of a large boulder that had shielded it from view until now.

She runs clumsily towards it, tripping several times before she reaches it and throws herself on her knees beside it. It's definitely a man. “Harry,” she says, but gets no response. He's lying on his stomach, his face facing away from her, and as the lightning illuminates her surroundings once more, she sees that the hair on the back on his head is matted with what can only be blood. She hesitates just for a moment, scared to touch him, fearing that he's gone. But then a wave crashes over him, momentarily lifting him a little and dragging him back towards the sea, and with a cry of alarm, she grabs hold of his jacket, pulling in the opposite direction. She has to get him further up the beach. She stands once more, and grabs his jacket firmly with both hands. When the next wave hits, she pulls hard, using the momentum of the water to inch him slowly further up the beach.

Once he's safely out of reach of all but the biggest waves, she takes a deep breath, rolls him over, and with a desperate prayer to the universe, she presses her fingers against the pulse point in his neck. He's wet and cold, so very cold, but then her fingers are also icy, and for a moment, she's not sure if Harry's dead, or if her fingertips are just so numb that they can't feel anything.

There is no pulse.

“Please, Harry,” she begs as tears begin to cloud her vision and she leans over him, pressing her lips against his cold, lifeless ones. “Please,” she murmurs as she moves her fingers across his skin, thinking that she must surely have the wrong spot. “Don't leave me.”

 

_Yesterday afternoon – Wednesday, 19th October_

 

She can see him looming over her, his face covered by a rough beard, his body odour overpowering, his expression predatory, but she refuses to go to pieces. She's already decided that she's not going to give him the satisfaction of eliciting any emotion from her. Harry has a plan and she has to trust that it will work, even if it'll be harder than they'd thought now that he's tied to the chair as well.

It had been difficult and time consuming, but she'd managed to loosen the bonds tying his hands together earlier so he can slip them off easily though he hadn't had time to do the same for her before their captor had returned. In fact, he'd only just managed to wrap the rope round his wrists in what appeared to be a tight knot before the man had lifted him off the floor, punched him in the face, and before Harry could recover, shoved him in a chair and secured him with a rope wrapped round his chest and another round his ankles. Harry had managed to knee him in the face as he'd attempted to do the latter, but it hadn't served any purpose but to anger the other man who'd retaliated with another punch, this time to Harry's stomach, winding him.

She feels the panic rise inside her as he pulls her to her feet, but she managed to control it, taking deep breaths to steady herself as she seeks out Harry's eyes with her own. He looks calm, his gaze warm and reassuring, and she takes courage from that, convincing herself that he's got everything under control. So she shuts down her mind, losing herself in recitation of poetry inside her head, revisiting her favourite books, imagining what it would feel like to be an eagle soaring in the sky, picturing herself at the top of the Empire State building in New York gazing out across the city. Part of her brain still registers what's going on, but the most important part is no longer paying attention. She acts like a doll, displaying no emotions as he rips her shirt open and pushes it off her shoulders, tearing off her bra next and groping her breast roughly, pinching her nipple.

“Come on, sweetheart,” the oaf growls. “You need to put on a good show. See? Your boss there is watching us. You're not bad looking. I bet he spends all day watching you, lusting after you. I bet he wishes he was me right now, standing here ready to fuck you.”

She doesn't even react when Harry replies, “If I was the one in front of her right now, she wouldn't be standing there with that vacant look in her eyes. She'd be _begging_ me to fuck her. But I bet you don't even know what it's like to have a woman beg you to let her please you, not without forcing her.”

“You don't know shit,” the man replies angrily, releasing her momentarily and turning towards Harry.

“I know a lot of things,” Harry replies calmly, “and one of them is that it makes you more of a man to give a woman pleasure than it does to take from her what she doesn't want to give.”

“I said shut up!” the man shouts, taking a few steps over to Harry and punching him hard in the stomach. He grunts in pain and the sound serves to bring her back to her surroundings with a jolt. When the man turns back towards her again, undoing her jeans and pulling them and her underwear down, she's overcome by panic and fear.

“Please,” she begs softly. “Don't do this, please.”

He laughs at her fear and roughly turns her round, pushing her forward over the surface of the table in the corner. She whimpers once as he exposes her, but otherwise makes no sound, biting her lip to stop her cries as the tears slide down her face.

“For Christ's sake!” Harry exclaims, his voice changing as he loses his composure and his anger and fear surface for a moment. “Have some compassion. What if this was your mother or sister?”

“I have no mother or sister,” he sneers, “but if you want, I'll do yours next.”

“Get your hands off her, you despicable piece of shit,” he growls, “or I'll personally castrate you and remove your puny, little prick, so you never bother another woman again.”

He laughs, pausing in the act of unbuckling his belt, and says, “And how do you plan on doing that? You've no weapon and you're tied to a chair.”

“Come over here, if you're man enough, and I'll tell you,” Harry smiles, regaining some of his composure, and she finds herself desperately hoping that this means he's managed to loosen the rope around his chest.

“Later,” the man shrugs. “I'm busy.” Then he swiftly unbuckles his belt and pulls down his jeans and boxers, letting them pool round his ankles. She whimpers at the sound of the buckle hitting the floor and squeezes her eyes shut as she feels his hands on her hips, but the rough thrust of his cock into her never comes. Instead she hears a strange gurgling sound coming from behind her and feels the man's hands release her. When she hears the scuffling noises, she straightens herself up in alarm, turning to face him, and what she sees has her heart skipping several beats. Harry has the man's neck locked into a hold from behind that is suffocating him. The man is struggling, but his legs are tangled in his trousers and he can't regain his footing. He's fighting Harry with his hands, trying to scratch his face and eyes as he struggles to free himself, but there is such a look of determination and hatred on Harry's face as he hangs on, tightening the pressure on his windpipe with every passing second, that she's sure there's no way in hell the man can break free. “Castration's too good for you,” she hears him snarl in the other man's ear.

Recovering from the shock of such an extraordinary change in her circumstances, she quickly moves to help Harry, but discovers that she can't as her jeans are still around her knees. Ashamed suddenly of her nakedness in front of him, she crouches down to pull her bound hands forward under her feet so she can stand and pull her trousers back up. By the time she's finished refastening them and has pulled her shirt closed in front, pushing it into the waistband of her jeans to hold it in place, the man is dead. He's stopped struggling and falls limply to the floor when Harry releases him.

“Harry,” she whispers softly as she watches him stand over the man he's just killed, the same expression of disgust and hatred on his face as he bends over to check his pulse and pat down his pockets, looking for a weapon of some kind.

“Yes?” he asks, lifting his gaze to hers as he straightens up, a large, folding, pocket knife in his hand.

“Thank you,” she murmurs and feels tears of gratitude and relief spring to her eyes and begin to slide down her cheeks even as she attempts to keep them at bay.

“Men like that,” he says firmly, “don't deserve to live.” He takes several steps towards her until he's standing in front of her, lifting his hand to gently touch her elbow. “Are you all right?” he asks softly, his eyes filling with concern.

“Fine,” she nods and wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hands, trying to pull herself together. This is no time for tears. There's a boatload of men like this one who will probably be more than willing to gang rape her in retaliation before they kill them both. “I'll be fine. What are we going to do now?”

“We have to try to escape,” he says as he pulls her wrists towards him and cuts her bonds with the knife. “When they find him, they'll probably want retribution and I don't fancy our chances. I reckon it's best if we try to swim to shore. With any luck, the tracker I swallowed is still working and Zaf will be tracking us. Let's look for a couple of life vests and then we'll see if we can spot any land, and hopefully, slip into the water unseen. Okay?”

She nods, confident that swimming to dry land is something she can manage well, especially with Harry's reassuring presence close by. She's always been a good swimmer.


	4. Chapter 4

_Present day – Thursday, 20th October_

 

It seems that time has stood still as she leans over him, willing him to live, and she's almost given up hope when, miraculously, she thinks she feels a pulse. With a sharp intake of breath, she moves her fingers to the other side of his neck, needing to confirm that she's not dreaming, that there is a pulse, that he's alive. It's there, it's really there! It's very weak, but it's unmistakeably there. He's alive! She turns her head as she leans over him again, hoping to feel his breath on her cheek or see his chest rise as he breathes. It's useless. She can't see a bloody thing and her skin is so cold, she can't feel anything. But surely he _must_ have water in his lungs, she decides. There's no way he could have got here without that happening, seeing as he's unconscious. So she begins chest compressions, murmuring every so often, “Come on, Harry!”

She continues for what seems like hours without stopping. She can't stop. She doesn't want to give up on him, give up hope. The waves no longer reach them, but it makes little difference seeing as the rain is pelting down hard. “Come on!” she says again, growing angry. “You can't give up, Harry. Section D needs you. _I_ need you.”

Suddenly a shape materializes next to her, making her jump and yell in surprise. It's a dog, warm and wet and barking it's head off. She pauses momentarily in her attempts to resuscitate Harry, realising that this dog belongs to someone who might be able to help them. Then a beam of light illuminates her and the dog, and as she turns towards it, she can see it's source bouncing as the person holding it comes running towards them. He doesn't even hesitate before throwing himself onto his knees on the other side of Harry and proffering out the torch. “Here,” he shouts. “Hold this.” She just makes out his words above the din of the storm, so she takes it from him and watches as he takes over the chest compressions, working feverishly, and as she turns the torch beam onto Harry's face, she can see that his physical strength is what was needed as the water begins to pour out of Harry's mouth. It seems like aeons later that Harry begins to splutter and cough, and the man turns him over into the recovery position as Ruth's eyes fill with tears of relief and gratitude.


	5. Chapter 5

The man opens the door and they follow him into the house. Harry's no longer leaning on Ruth for support, but he keeps his arm round her shoulders anyway and she's grateful for the warmth, comfort and the sheer pleasure of it. She's still somewhat amazed by how quickly he'd recovered from his near drowning, though admittedly she's lost all awareness of time; perhaps they'd been on the beach for hours. The man had only given Harry a moment to catch his breath before coaxing him to get up, alternating between encouragement, demands and threats. At first it hadn't seemed to be working, but when their rescuer had started shouting orders and abuse at him, making fun of his weakness, Harry had finally began to respond. Something ingrained during his army days or just stubborn male pride, she'd wondered as she'd watched him slowly push himself up onto all fours before promptly vomiting several times. She'd moved forward to touch him then, her concern for him increasing by the second, but the man had held her back with his arm, scared perhaps that Harry might collapse in a heap again if she attempted to comfort him. He'd given Harry a moment to recover before yelling at him again, something that had been necessary in order to be heard over the din of the storm, until he'd began trying to stand. This time, she hadn't let him stop her from moving forward, grasping his left arm and slinging it over her shoulder while their rescuer did the same with his right. Harry had had to lean on the pair of them for most of the way, but seemed to get stronger as they approached what looked like the only shelter for miles - the man's stone cottage, set back from the beach and, thankfully, towards the nearer of the two headlands.

“Wait here,” their saviour instructs as he closes and bolts the door behind them. “The storm's knocked out the power again.” They watch as the beam from his torch moves into the kitchen beyond the tiny hall.

“Best get out of these wet things,” Harry murmurs softly, his voice croaky from lack of use and the salt water he'd swallowed. It's the first thing either of them has said to the other since he'd pointed out the gathering storm clouds and urged her to swim faster.

“Yes,” she whispers hoarsely as he pulls his arm from around her shoulders and she lifts her hands to unbuckle the life vest, but it's too stiff for her to manage, her fingers too cold and numb, her strength spent. She hears the zip of his jacket slide down in the dark and the swishing of sodden fabric as he pulls it off. Then she lets out a sigh of frustration as the buckle refuses to budge.

“All right?” he asks.

“I can't get the buckles undone,” she explains, still wrestling with the wretched things.

“Let me help,” he says and she feels his hand connect with her arm and trail down to her elbow and then across her stomach, searching for the buckles in the dark. Once he's located one of them, it only takes him two seconds to unbuckle it and its fellows.

“Thanks,” she whispers as she removes the vest, her numb fingers making the whole process difficult and slow. She shivers. She doesn't think she's ever felt this cold before. She's just about to throw caution to the wind and ask Harry to hold her in the hope of getting warm again, when their host reappears, carrying an oil lamp.

Ruth's hands instinctively drop the vest and wrap around her chest, pulling closed the ripped fabric of her shirt. Harry notices her reaction and discomfort, so he steps in front of her, shielding her almost completely from view with his body. Her heart warms at his thoughtfulness and his desire to protect her, and she steps forward slightly, pressing lightly into his back in gratitude. The move is instinctive and completed before she can think of all the reasons she shouldn't be doing this, but Harry doesn't seem to mind, if anything, he seems pleased, reaching back and squeezing her hand gently with his own, though she can hardly feel it. She shivers from the cold again and turns her gaze on their rescuer.

It's their first glimpse of this stranger who's saved their lives. He's of average height, stocky and looks a little older than Harry, perhaps in his early sixties, with a thick head of silver hair, a rough beard, and very bushy eyebrows. In fact, he looks quite wild and she's suddenly very grateful for Harry's presence, though her rational mind is telling her that it's probably only her recent experience on the boat that's making her fear this man. He's well dressed for the weather, and even though his outer garments are drenched from the storm, he looks like he's warm and dry inside.

“Well, it looks like the phone's out as well,” he states with resignation. “The number of times I’ve told them they need to bury the lines, but will they listen?”

“You have no mobile?” Harry croaks with a frown of concern, and she knows what he's thinking. They need to get in touch with the team back on the Grid.

“No reception up here,” the man shakes his head. “Closest place with a working phone'll be the farm three miles west of here, but in this storm...” he tails off, shaking his head. There's a pause and then he volunteers, “Name's Fred, Fred Wilkins.”

“I'm Harry,” Harry replies, “Harry Stevens, and this is my wife, Ruth.” She stiffens in surprise, but then relaxes once more as she realises that, under the circumstances, it's best for them to pose as a married couple and using their real first names will make it much easier to remember who they're meant to be. With them suffering from hypothermia and exhaustion, this is no time to be constructing elaborate legends.

Fred nods, saying, “You'd best get out of your wet clothes. Come on in.”

Harry steps forward to follow their host into the kitchen, and she stays close behind him, keeping his body between her and Fred. They stop by the kitchen table and Fred steps over to a cupboard and gets out three glasses and a bottle of brandy from which he pours them all a stiff measure. The liquid burns her throat as it slides down, but it serves it's purpose very well and she can soon feel its warmth seep into her insides. “God, that feels good,” Ruth murmurs softly and takes another swig, draining the glass.

She sees Harry smile and Fred chuckles as he says, “I'll start a fire, make some tea, and warm some soup. I have a few cans somewhere. There's a bathtub upstairs and there should be enough water for one bath, but no more with the power out. It won't be hot mind, but I dare say it'll be warm enough for your purposes. I'll dig out a few hot-water bottles too and bring them up to you along with the tea and soup. You can have my bed tonight. Best thing you can do is get in there as fast as you can to warm up.”

“Oh no,” Ruth objects, “we couldn't possibly.”

“It's a double,” he states. “The only other bedroom has a single bed. It's no trouble. I often sleep in there anyway.”

Ruth is speechless, but Harry replies, “Thank you. We're very grateful for your help.”

“It's no bother,” he shrugs. “It's Bella you should thank really. If she hadn't darted out into the storm, I'd never have ventured out. Eh, Bella?” He pats the Border Collie who enjoys the attention and barks in approval. “You're a good girl.” Then he turns to them again and says, “Follow me.”

They both follow him slowly up the stairs, and once on the landing, he pauses and says briskly, “The bathroom's straight ahead. This here'll be your room for tonight.” He opens the door on the right, letting it swing open so they can get a glimpse of the cosy, surprisingly tidy, room, equipped with a queen size bed, a large wardrobe and chest of drawers, and a fireplace in the corner. “Take what you need in the way of clothes from in there. If you can't find anything that fits, Ruth, try the other room. Some of my daughter's things might be a better fit. I'll be back in a jiffy with the hot-water bottles, the tea, and the soup. All right?”

“Thank you, Fred,” Harry replies.

The other man nods and disappears downstairs again. Once alone, she looks at Harry, hoping he will take charge as she knows that the situation is about to get rather awkward. “All right?” he asks as he turns to face her. She nods watching his face that's a little worse for wear, his cheek bone bruised, his lips chapped and blue from the cold, and waiting for him to continue as she wonders if he's feeling as nervous and uncomfortable at the prospect of them sharing a bath and bed as she is. A little part of her is almost grateful for the opportunity she's been given to be so intimate with him, the man she's been secretly in love with for months now, but she can't help worrying that he doesn't feel the same way and that this'll damage their working relationship irrevocably. “Ruth,” he murmurs, breaking into her thoughts, “we really must get out of these clothes. You go ahead and get into that bath.”

“What about you?” she asks uncertainly.

“I'll be fine,” he smiles. “Go on. You need to get warm.”

He doesn't intend to join her, she realises and suddenly feels angry, not because she sees it as a rejection, but because, in trying to be a gentleman, he's being very stupid. So she shakes her head at him and says firmly, “We'll share it.” She watches as his face registers surprise at the suggestion or her tone of voice, she's not sure which, before she adds, “We're both adults, Harry, and this is a life or death situation. I can't let you freeze out here. You need the bath as much as I do, so let's go.” And with that, she determinedly leads the way to the bathroom.  


	6. Chapter 6

When he returns with the towels, she's already immersed in the hot water and is covered by a thick layer of bubbles, shielding her from his gaze though she's kept her knickers on, just in case, seeing as they were soaking anyway. Her breasts are bare though as her bra is ruined, so she'd been very relieved to discover the bubble-bath when she'd began filling the tub. He _is_ her boss, after all and they're on operation together, so she doesn't want to be giving Harry the wrong signals because, apart from anything else, she wants him to think her competent and capable in the field too, not just behind a desk.

Her eyes are closed, but they open immediately and she gives him a warm smile, despite the tension and apprehension she's feeling, as she moves a little to the side to make room for him in the tub. “It feels like a pool,” she murmurs. “I've never seen such a big tub before.”

“I have one at home,” he replies, clearly without thinking, and she smiles as she sees his cheeks and ears turn a little red when he realises what he's said.

“Oh really?” she asks with interest, her eyebrows shooting up as her eyes light up with mischief.

“Yes.” He clears his throat and turns to hang the towels on the rack and she suspects he's using it as an excuse to hide his embarrassment. He doesn't appear to realise that far from hiding, his move is much more revealing than he intends. His wet boxer briefs are clinging to his skin, leaving very little to the imagination and she has to swallow to moisten her throat that has suddenly gone dry. Quickly she lifts her gaze to his face to see if he's noticed, but luckily he's looking elsewhere. Some of her embarrassment must show on her face, however, because, when he turns to look at her again, he smiles and murmurs, “Penny for them.”

She blushes more deeply and closes her eyes as she turns her head to look up towards the ceiling, submerging her head into the water until only her face remains above the surface. “Oh, Harry,” she says after a beat, “my thoughts are worth so much more than just a penny,” and even though her head is submerged in the bath, she can hear him laugh at her retort.

A few moments pass during which she expects him to enter the bathtub, but when he doesn't, curiosity gets the better of her and she opens her eyes to peer round at him. He's standing with his back towards her and she hears the tell-tale trickle of urine against the porcelain as she carefully lifts her head out of the water, trying not to make a sound. Feeling mortified at having observed him in such a private moment, she slowly lies back down, closing her eyes in embarrassment and hoping that he hasn't realised she was watching though she can't help dwelling on the brief glimpse she's just had of his bare back and his buttocks, which look deliciously firm, outlined by his wet underwear.

She hears the loo flush and feels the water ripple as he gets into the tub beside her. The temptation to open her eyes is great, but the thought of him seeing her ogling his body and the embarrassment this would cause them both is enough to make her keep them resolutely closed. She hears him groan in pleasure and she smiles before the water his body has displaced threatens to drown her and she has to abruptly lift her head. She opens her eyes and finds him lying in the tub beside her, his shoulders resting against the opposite end of the bathtub, his eyes closed and a smile of contentment on his lips.

The water isn't very hot, which is probably a good thing, but she remembers how good it felt when she'd first got in, as hot as the hottest bath she'd ever had before. Her toes and fingers in particular had begun to tingle delightfully and it had seemed like the first time in ages that she'd been able to feel anything at all with them.

She watches him as he leans back in the tub, his face relaxing into a soft smile as the warmth seeps through his skin. The tub really is huge and there is plenty of room for them to lie side by side in it without touching, something she rather regrets right now. She's already beginning to feel cold again, her body having absorbed the available heat from the rapidly cooling water. As she watches him, she wonders what he would have said had she shared her thoughts earlier, had she pointed out that, when he'd turned to hang up the towels, his wet underwear had outlined his package just perfectly and she'd been amazed by the size of him. She'd just been wondering how much bigger he gets when erect, when he'd asked her what she'd been thinking.

His eyes open, and to cover her embarrassment at being caught thinking of him like that again, she quickly asks, “But don't you worry about the environmental impact of using so much water every time you have a bath, Harry?”

He looks puzzled for a moment, but then he smiles and replies mischievously, “You don't seem to be too worried about the environment right now, Ruth.”

“Yes, well, I'd rather not die today if I can help it. Anyway, I'm sure that we're not really using that much more water than a single tub with both of us in here,” she replies thoughtfully, and then realising what she's said, she looks quickly away, trying to push aside the images that invade her mind of Harry with another woman in his bathtub at home.

There's a moment of silence before he admits quietly, “The truth is that I rarely get a chance to use it, but when I do, I figure that, since I don't use it above a dozen times a year, the environment will be just fine despite my wasteful indulgence.”

She clears her throat in relief and concedes, “You're probably right. In fact, I'm sure I use more water than you because, despite my smaller tub, I have a bath at least once a week. I just love water. I used to swim regularly at school and university. In fact I was on the school swimming team.”

“Really?” he asks with interest. “I didn't think you liked sport.”

“There's sport and then there's sport, Harry,” she smiles, “and swimming is definitely my kind of sport. I held the school record for the 200m breaststroke for almost a year when I was twelve.”

“Impressive,” he replies. “No wonder you did so well yesterday.”

She grimaces and murmurs, “It's just as well that we didn't have to run or ski really.”

He chuckles softly at the joke, but then his face turns serious again and he looks away.

“What?” she asks, puzzled by his sudden change in mood.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, but when she continues to just look at him, waiting for an answer, he sighs and murmurs, “It was so close, Ruth. I almost failed to protect you, and I-”

“Don't,” she objects quickly, not really wanting to think or talk about it. “Let's not dwell on it. We're both here now. We're alive and relatively unscathed. It could have been so much worse.” He nods, but he still looks grim, so she adds, “You did your best, Harry. Your plan was a good one. We couldn't have known he'd tie you to the chair as well.” She looks away in embarrassment as she remembers all that he saw, but she determinedly ploughs on with what she wants to say, wanting to reassure him. “And anyway, perhaps it worked out better that way. You wouldn't have waited until the last moment otherwise, and he couldn't fight you with his...” she swallows, “trousers round his ankles. He would have made more noise and attracted the others if you'd been able to attack him sooner.” He sighs then and turns to smile at her, and as she looks at him again, she's pleased that her words have helped make him feel better; she's so grateful to him for rescuing her. He holds her gaze for long moments, his eyes warm and full of admiration and pride, making her blush and her heart race.

She shivers slightly and watches his smile turn into a frown. She's cold now, but she doesn't really want to leave the bathtub, not just for fear of him seeing her practically naked - which he's already done, she remembers with a blush – but also because she loves the intimacy of sharing a bath with him and she knows that she's unlikely to ever get such an opportunity again. Not unless something changes drastically between them, and though she suspects that he _does_ desire her in that way, she doesn't imagine that either of them will be brave enough to risk starting something when the odds of it working out long term are so low; they value each other and their jobs too much for that. “This is meant to be warming you up, Ruth,” she hears him say a little sternly. “If you're cold, you need to get out.”

“I know,” she nods, pushing herself a little further up so her shoulders are now out of the water, but as he turns his head away from her to give her some privacy while she gets out, she suddenly remembers that he'd banged his head pretty badly on the rocks and no one has looked at the wound yet. “Turn around, Harry,” she says. “I want to look at the cut on the back of your head.”

“It's fine, Ruth,” he objects.

“Don't be daft,” she admonishes. “Someone needs to look at it, and since you can't do it yourself, you'll either have to let me do it, or go and explain to Fred why you won't let your _wife_ take care of you.”

He sighs and sits up before slowly turning his back towards her, his legs brushing deliciously against hers in the process. “Sorry,” he murmurs, not really sounding sorry at all.

In response, she bends one knee up, and bringing her foot round his back, she extends her leg out on the other side as she sits up behind him, the inside of her thighs lightly brushing against either side of his bottom. He's still wearing his underwear, she discovers with a little disappointment as she listens to his breathing change slightly and is surprised at herself when she's tempted to press herself against him further to see what kind of a response she might elicit. Then she really shocks herself by thinking that, if she's lucky, she might even get to find out how big he really _does_ get!

She swallows as she determinedly pushes aside those thoughts and says, “You haven't even rinsed your hair yet, Harry. I can't see anything until you do that.”

She hears him clear his throat, and when he speaks, his voice sounds rather deeper than usual, making her heart beat even faster. “I didn't think you'd appreciate having the bath water turn pink, Ruth, nor did I think it wise to expose you to my blood.”

“Oh!” she says in surprise as the implications of that statement sink in.

But then he seems to realise how his words might be interpreted and he hastily adds, “Not that there's any cause for alarm, Ruth. I've had all the tests done and they're all clear. I just thought-”

“Thank you, Harry,” she interrupts his rambling, feeling touched and wanting to put him at ease. “It was very thoughtful of you. How about I get out so you can rinse properly and then I have a look?”

“Sounds good,” he nods and turns his head towards the wall as she puts one hand on his shoulder, the other on the rim of the tub for balance and raises herself to her feet. His skin is soft and warm and she hates to let go of him, but eventually she cannot reasonably delay any longer so she gets out, turning to grab hold of a towel and dry herself quickly, feeling suddenly really cold. She hears him splashing in the bathtub, but she resolutely keeps her back towards him as she dries herself, surreptitiously pulling off her wet knickers, and then wraps the towel round her body and another round her hair.

When she turns round, he's just opening his eyes and sitting up. She smiles and kneels down to examine his head as he turns his back towards her. The cut looks quite nasty and she suspects that it went through to the bone, but as Harry isn't acting loopy and is behaving quite normally, his scull is probably intact and there's nothing to worry about. A little blood is seeping from the wound again.

“Well, Doctor,” he murmurs, “will I live?”

“I'm afraid so,” she smiles. “It looks quite deep, Harry. I think it needs stitches.”

“Under the circumstances, I think I'll pass,” he replies. “Besides, if it leaves a scar, it's hardly going to be my first.”

“True,” she concedes with a smile as he turns in the tub to face her again, her eyes unconsciously tracing over the visible scars on his shoulders and chest. “You do have quite a collection. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you have a rather cavalier attitude when it comes to the treatment of wounds.”

He chuckles softly at her teasing remark and replies, “At least this one won't be visible for a good few years yet. Not until I lose _all_ my hair at any rate.”

She laughs, delighting in their playful teasing. Their gazes hold for several moments, their eyes sparkling in joy until the intensity becomes too much for her and she drops her gaze to the bath tub. She frowns when she sees the drops of blood on the porcelain and reaches forward to wipe it away with her hand. “You're bleeding again. I'll go ask Fred for some bandages.” Then she rinses her hand in the bath and gets up to leave.  


	7. Chapter 7

When she returns and knocks, he calls for her to enter, but the moment she opens the door, she freezes in the doorway at the sight that greets her. Harry's already out of the bath, a towel wrapped around his waist as he stands at the sink shaving. She feels like she's intruding on something very intimate and personal, and she almost makes up her mind to back out of the room. But her curiosity keeps her there for a moment too long, and suddenly, she finds the sight of Harry's right bicep bunching and relaxing as he slides the cheep razor across his foam covered face highly erotic and now she _can't_ move.

“Shut the door, Ruth. It's freezing,” she hears him say and almost jumps at the rough sound of his voice, and as she raises her eyes to meet his in the mirror, she has a feeling that he knows exactly what's been running though her head. Swiftly, she looks away and turns to shut the door, inwardly cursing her lack of self-control.

“Sorry,” she says, doing her best to keep her voice level. “I have the bandages here when you're ready.” She glances at him again, seeing him step a little to the side to give her room next to the sink to put down the supplies she's carrying. So she moves forward and busies herself preparing everything, keeping her gaze resolutely on what she's doing and away from him. She doesn't dare try to watch him again, but she can't help wondering why he's bothering to shave at this hour and in the present circumstances.

“It relaxes me,” he murmurs softly, causing her eyes to snap up and meet his in the mirror in shock. How on earth had he known what she'd been thinking, she wonders in amazement as he adds, “I usually prefer a glass of whisky in the evening, but as none is available tonight, I thought this might help.”

She smiles and looks down, nodding as she tucks away that information in her heart, ridiculously pleased that he's shared something so personal with her. “I prefer a glass of wine,” she confesses, glancing up at him in the mirror for a moment to find him smiling.

He nods and turns his eyes back on his reflection and it doesn't take him long to finish up. Soon she's carefully cleaning his wound, hating the pain she's causing him but knowing it has to be done. His knuckles have turned white as he grips the sink hard, leaning over it so she can reach his injury and see what she's doing under the light coming from above the sink. He isn't making a sound, though there's the occasional hitch in his breathing, and she wonders why men have this need to hide their pain and always appear strong. Soon she's done the best job she can, so she places a bandage over his wound before wrapping some gauze around his head to hold it in place.

Once she's finished, she steps back and smiles at his grumpy expression as he eyes himself in the mirror. “Don't you think you overdid it a little, Ruth?” he pouts.

“We don't want it to move in your sleep,” she replies quietly, turning away to hide her smile. “Besides,” she adds, “it's not bad. It makes you look like a wounded hero in one of those WWII films.”

“As long as I don't look like that bloke in the English Patient,” he grumbles.

“The English Patient?” she asks in surprise and her eyes light up with mischief. “Harry, how _long_ has it actually been since you went to see a film?” He shrugs and clears his throat in embarrassment, his ears turning red again before she relents and adds, “You could do worse that look like Ralph Fiennes, Harry. He's rather good looking. Why don't you like him?”

“I found his character rather irritating,” he shrugs, “not to mention the fact that he betrays everything and everyone for a woman.”

“For love, Harry,” she amends absently as she begins to collect the things she's used.

“That's not love, Ruth,” he replies seriously and she can't help lifting her eyes to his. “True love is selfless and honourable. One must strive to never go against what is right, _especially_ for love. If you do that, you lose everything because, if she truly loves you, she'll lose all respect for you because you have betrayed your principles; you have betrayed yourself.”

She stares at him for a moment in silence, her heart hammering in her chest as she tries to recover, but before she can formulate any kind of a response, he's already left the bathroom, murmuring something about getting dressed.

 

* * *

 

The room is warm, despite the storm still raging outside, the wind howling and making the trees creak, the rain lashing at the windows, and the thunder shaking the house. The fire crackling in the grate is wonderfully warm and cheerful, and as she slips into bed, she sighs in relief and contentment. The hot-water bottle down by her feet feels wonderful and the think layer of blankets soon begins to warm her up again, especially once Harry gets in bed next to her. She feels the bed dip as he slides in beside her, and without pausing to think about it lest she lose her nerve, she turns, sidles up to him and wraps her arm around his chest, pressing against his side.

She feels him freeze as she leans into him and immediately regrets her actions, but as she's about to pull away again, a particularly loud clap of thunder has her tightening her arm around him and burying her face against his shoulder in momentary alarm. He chuckles softly and turns towards her even as she tries to roll away in embarrassment at her apparent fear, not wanting him to think less of her, particularly as she's never been scared of thunderstorms – the sound just startled her. But as he pulls her against his chest and rubs his hand up and down her back to warm her, the sensation is so wonderful that she stops moving, swallowing her embarrassment and letting herself relax against him instead, not hesitating to seize the moment even for a second, knowing that she's unlikely to ever get another opportunity like this to lie in Harry's strong arms.

“Better?” he asks after a bit as a sign of deep contentment escapes her.

“Much,” she mumbles against his chest. “You're so warm, Harry.”

“As are you,” he replies, his arm ceasing its motion and his hand coming to rest against her back, between her shoulder blades.

They lie still for some time, adjusting to the feel of each other, and though initially she's hyper-aware of his proximity and she feels the warm tingling of desire deep in her belly, soon the fatigue from their ordeal kicks in and she begins to relax. She presses herself further against him, cuddling up to him even more as her physical exhaustion catches up with her, her brain becoming sluggish and unable to remember and hold onto all the reasons why she should keep her distance from Harry... boss spook... _her_ boss... wonderful man... _her_ wonderful man... her Harry...

“G'night, Harry,” she mumbles.

“Goodnight, Ruth,” he replies in a husky voice, and as she begins to drift off to sleep, her final thought is a fervent wish that she might one day be allowed the privilege of always sharing his bed like this – not for the sex, which she's sure would be quite wonderful, but for the sheer pleasure of holding him, feeling his warm body against hers, inhaling his wonderful Harry smell, and feeling utterly safe and secure. Before she can fall into a deep sleep, however, she feels him move away from her a little and murmurs a sleepy apology as she begins to pull away, sure that she's making him uncomfortable by being so close but, luckily, feeling too tired and sleepy to think or feel any kind of unease or embarrassment. “No,” he objects quickly. “Don't go. I just need to... turn around. My... er... arm's going to sleep.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, opening her eyes for a moment and watching him turn his back towards her and the fireplace before she presses herself against his back and wraps her arm round his chest, finding enough mental and physical energy to ask him, “Is this okay? I'm still cold.”

“It's very nice,” he murmurs as he places his hand over hers, making her smile as she closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

_Very early, next morning - Friday, 21st October_

 

When she wakes up, she finds herself utterly surrounded by him. His arms are wrapped around her, anchoring her against his body, her head resting against his chest where she can hear his heart beating steadily. Her legs are tangled with his under the covers and she can feel his belly press against hers with every breath he takes. His breathing is deep and even and she comes to the conclusion that he must still be sleeping. She almost sighs in relief at this realisation, letting go of the tension in her body and relaxing against him. She opens her eyes to discover that the room is dark, save for the warm glow coming from the ambers of the fire. It's night time then, she thinks before turning her attention back to Harry and the feel of his body against hers. It's quite the most wonderful feeling she's ever experienced she decides, closing her eyes again in bliss. She knows she should move away from him before he wakes up to find them in this utterly unprofessional embrace, but she can't quite bring herself to end it yet; she's enjoying it far too much. Just a few more minutes, she thinks dreamily.

When next she wakes up, she can feel that something's different. Harry's definitely awake; he's still breathing deeply, but there's a tension in him that wasn't there before. Endeavouring to keep her breathing deep and even too, she contemplates what she should do. He certainly doesn't seem in any hurry to extract himself from her embrace. If anything, he seems keen to prolong it as much as possible, otherwise he would have released her already. It would be easy enough to do by pretending to roll over in his sleep. But what does it mean, she wonders. Is it just Harry trying to be a gentleman and not disturb her sleep? Is it the irresistible pull of another warm body on a man who spends so many nights alone? Is it about desire and sex, or just comfort and warmth? Would he be doing the same thing if he'd been sharing this bed with Zoe, Sam or Fiona? Or is it because it's her, Ruth? She's not sure, and that worries her. Yet what worries her even more is that this last realisation isn't enough to make her want to extract herself from his embrace. She'd choose to go on pretending she's asleep and stay here with Harry forever if it were physically possible. He feels so good, so warm, cuddly and strong. Soon she finds that her insides have begun to burn with a desire so powerful that her heart is beating wildly and she's hard pressed to keep her breathing even. 'Time to wake up and go take a cold shower, Ruth,' she tells herself sternly.

She intends to roll away from him, stretch and pretend to be waking up, but her somewhat addled mind gets the order all mixed up and she finds herself arching her back to stretch before she's moved away... And _that_ is their undoing. She hears him gasp as her pelvis presses against him, trapping his erection, that he's managed to successfully hide so well, between their bodies and causing her eyes to fly open and meet his as she moves her shoulders and head back. His gaze is smouldering hot, his hazel eyes liquid pools of desire and need, mirroring her own, and before she's aware of any conscious decision on her part to move, they're entangled in the most passionate, satisfying, intimate, soul-wrenching kiss she's ever known. His hands are everywhere and she can feel her body burn as they slide over her skin, pushing under her clothes to reach her as her hands do the same, needing to feel him and pull him closer, as close as they can possibly be.

Her first orgasm overtakes her the moment his fingers slip into her pyjamas and find her clit, vibrating against it expertly and sending her into a spiral of heart-stopping bliss, and it's only after she comes back to herself that she realises that the deep moans of pleasure she heard came from her own throat. She opens her eyes to find him watching her, his eyes alight with joy, lust and something else, something elusive. “Harry,” she whispers, smiling up at him adoringly even as she tries to get a grip on her emotions and rebuild the walls around her heart that he's blown apart with so much ease. But the attempt is futile and she knows that she's left herself wide open and fears that he can read her like an open book.

He smiles softly at her, lifting his hand to cup her face as he sighs, “Oh, Ruth,” and leans down to kiss her, a gentle, sweet, exquisitely tender kiss that brings tears to her eyes. She can't stand this, she's not ready for it, this tenderness that gives the illusion of love and all she's ever craved with him. So she pulls him closer, pushing down on the waistband of his borrowed pyjamas as she deepens the kiss, seeking to reignite the lust between them.

Soon they've managed to remove all their clothes, their lips and hands sucking and groping at each other in desperate need. She grasps his cock in her fist, marvelling at how thick and rigid he is as she hears his groan of approval and feels his fingers slip inside her. She gasps in pleasure, gripping him more tightly and sliding her hand along him as she bucks beneath him, and whimpering when he pulls his fingers away again, wrapping them around her wrist and tugging her hand away from him. Next moment he's hovering over her, his pelvis pushing her legs further apart as he slips between them and gently pushes into her. She arches her back to meet him, moaning again as he stretches her deliciously.

“Ruth,” he murmurs her name as he fills her, “look at me, Ruth.” So she complies, opening her eyes to stare into his that are brimming with so many different emotions that she can't distinguish one from the other. She's never seen his eyes this open before, reflecting his thoughts and feelings so clearly, and can't help but drink him in, storing away this image in her heart for safe keeping.

“Harry,” she murmurs his name and lifts one hand to cup his cheek, moved beyond words by the trust he's showing her in this moment. He smiles softly at her and opens his mouth to say something, but the emotions are too much for her to deal with again, so she slips her hand behind his neck and pulls him down for a deep kiss that, she hopes, says it all.

They don't last long, coming within seconds of each other as they pant and gasp in unison, their heads side by side, listening to each other's groans of pleasure as they shudder in ecstasy. He pulls her close, lifting his head to press his lips against hers softly before he rolls onto his side and rests his head on his pillow, his eyes closing with a sigh of heartfelt contentment. She smiles as she watches him for a few moments, letting her eyes roam over his face from his full lips up to his still bandaged head, unable to quite believe what's just happened and yet knowing that she wouldn't trade this moment, this feeling inside her for anything in the world, no matter what happens later, or tomorrow, or once they get back to work.

The thought of work and everything that's happened recently serves to bring her back down to reality with an unpleasant bump and it is with a sinking feeling in her stomach that she turns her head to look up at the ceiling. Her legs are still tangled with his under the covers, her left shoulder and arm resting against his chest, and they bring her comfort as she worries about it all. Logically, she knows that, despite what's happened between them and how much it felt like they were making love rather than the adrenaline fuelled fuck she would have foreseen under the circumstances, she can't expect it to lead to anything more. Their lives are such and their work is such that a relationship between them has always seemed like a bad idea to her and something unlikely to last, even though in her private fantasies she's often indulged in imagining what sharing her life with Harry would look like and how wonderful it would be. But now, after experiencing the incredible perfection of the way their bodies fit together and the close connection she felt to him just now, she finds herself wondering if it would be such a bad thing to try to build a future for them together.

She bites her bottom lip as she realises that she's running away with herself, something she's promised herself never to do again. She knows from bitter experience that what might feel like an intimate connection to her doesn't necessarily feel that way to a man, especially, she reminds herself sternly, to a man who lies and cheats for a living like Harry. She knows she has a tendency to always think of him as decent and honourable, to romanticise him to some extent, even though a lot of his actions suggest that he's anything but. And if she's brutally honest with herself, she can't put it past him to seduce her, to play her and use her like an asset. Perhaps he's already regretting what's happened between them and will try to blame it on the adrenaline and the heat of the moment come morning.

“A pound for them,” he murmurs softly, startling her a little as she hadn't realised he'd woken, so caught up was she in her worries.

She smiles as she registers his words despite the turmoil in her heart and turns her head to look at him. “A whole pound! No one's ever offered me that much money for my thoughts before, Harry.”

“Nonsense, Ruth,” he objects. “You get paid much more than a pound for your thoughts at work.”

“I don't know, Harry,” she replies. “Do you even know how much I get paid?”

“Nowhere near enough,” he smiles.

“Sounds about right,” she sighs and turns her head away from him to watch the fire's ambers that cast a warm glow around the room which is still shrouded in darkness though she detects a hint of daylight beginning to filter through the window now. It'll be dawn soon.

There's silence for a few moments before he says, “You looked troubled just now. What's worrying you, Ruth? Is it this - what's happened between us?”

“Yes,” she admits quietly, bracing herself for his reaction, the excuses she half-expects to hear, determining to be strong, a good spook, and take it all in stride with good grace.

“Would you care to elaborate? I thought it was... quite wonderful and it's something I would very much like to repeat... frequently,” he murmurs when she shows no indication of continuing.

She turns to look at him at that, and seeing the sincerity in his gaze, she smiles, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek as she attempts to push down the relief and the hope that floods her heart, fearing to trust in it yet. “I'm sorry. I don't mean that I regret it. I've wanted this... _you_ for ages, Harry, and to tell the truth, it was... bloody fantastic.” He grins with delight at her words, and she can practically see his heart swelling with pride and pleasure. Then she plucks up her courage and adds, “I was just expecting you to...” but it fails her half way through the sentence and she falls silent.

“To what?” he asks, scanning her face with his warm, intelligent eyes. “To make up some excuse about why this happened and why it can never happen again?” She nods, feeling tears spring to her eyes as he sighs and lifts himself onto his right elbow so he can see her more clearly. “Ruth,” he begins but then pauses, to gather his thoughts. “I'm not a _complete_ cad. At least, I'm not any more. I won't insult your intelligence by claiming that I haven't seduced and used women in the past, but... I haven't been that man in over a decade now, and I'd like to think that I've learnt something in my fifty odd years of life and that I've changed... for the better.” He smiles down at her and adds, “What's happened here is something I have thought about and longed for... oh, for years, Ruth... possibly my entire life.” She frowns in puzzlement at his words, but he ploughs on, “And though I've tried to fight against it, now that I've had a taste of it... us... together... I don't want to let it go. I don't want this to be a... one off, Ruth. I'd like to take you out, to date you. I'd like a relationship with you if... if that's what you want too.”

She nods, unable to speak from emotion and turns her face towards his chest, burying it against him. She feels him lie down beside her and pull her close, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her hair as she fights to contain her emotions that want to spill out as tears of relief and happiness.  


	9. Chapter 9

_Later that morning_

 

When she wakes, she's alone in bed, and for one terrible moment, she thinks it was all a dream. But then, as she rolls towards his side of the bed they've shared, pressing her face into his pillow and inhaling deeply, trying to catch a whiff of his scent, she smiles, her motion bringing to her awareness the delicious feeling of complete muscle and joint looseness and relaxation that only sex can bring, and she knows it was no dream. She feels positively languid this morning and is tempted to just close her eyes and go back to sleep, and it's only the strange sounds coming from outside that slowly penetrate her lethargic brain and prod it into wakefulness.

She lifts her head listening. The sound is getting louder and before long she's identified it as the noise from the blades of a helicopter. 'Bollocks,' she thinks as she sits up, quickly scanning the room for something to wear; the team has found them. Her eyes alight on a pile of clothes on the night-stand, and she realises that they're actually _her_ clothes, dry and neatly folded. She scrambles out of bed then and begins to slip them on, but once she has her knickers, socks and jeans on, she realises that the bra is not her own and neither is the shirt or the jumper. Frowning in surprise, it takes her a moment to remember that hers had been ruined. Any further thoughts on the subject, however, are cut short when she hears voices on the stairs. Quickly, she slips the garments on, surprised that they're actually not a bad fit, runs her fingers through her hair to get rid of the worst tangles, and turns to scan the room for any signs of a male occupant or any indication of what she and Harry had been up to last night. Finding none, she turns to the make the bed just as someone knocks on the door.

“Ruth?” Adam's voice calls. “Are you decent?”

“Come in,” she replies, having hastily straightened the covers, and turns to face him.

He enters the room smiling, and she sees him quickly scan his surroundings before his eyes come back to settle on her and he takes a few steps forward. “Oh Adam,” she smiles, giving him a hug, “I'm so glad you're all right. We didn't know if you'd survived and I was so worried.”

“I'm fine,” he grins at her as he pulls back. “Zaf fished me out of the sea before I drowned. I'm glad you're all right too, Ruth. We were really worried about you. Harry said they didn't hurt you?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “He... we got out in time. Is he all right? He almost drowned last night.”

“And almost cracked his head wide open by the looks of it,” he grins. “But you know Harry. I had to threaten him with TRING before he'd let the paramedics look at him.”

“ _You_ threatened _him_ with TRING?” she laughs. “Oh, Adam, I'm sorry I missed that. He can't have taken it well.”

“Actually, he just glared at me,” he shrugs. “Clearly the head injury or the near drowning must have addled his brain. Anyway, ready to go?”

“Yes,” she agrees, thinking that it's more likely that it's the sex that's put Harry in a good enough mood to forgive Adam taking such liberties. She follows him out of the room, pausing on the threshold to take one last look at the place where she and Harry had finally found their way to each other, a small smile spreading across her lips before she turns away, silently sending up a prayer that what began between them here will survive, grow and last forever.

They descend the stairs into the kitchen where everyone seems to be gathered. Harry's sitting at the table, his head bent forward as two paramedics examine his wound. Zaf's over in the corner of the room with his phone pressed to his ear, listening, and the owner of the house, Fred, is standing with his back against the wall, taking everything in.

As she follows Adam into the room, Zaf looks up and smiles at her before murmuring something into the phone and motioning for Adam to come over. Harry lifts his head and catches her eye briefly, giving her a warm look that has her heart skipping several beats, but earns him a sharp reprimand of, “Please stay still, Mr. Stevens,” from one of the paramedics. He scowls as he lowers his head once more and she can't help smiling.

“Glad you're all right, Ruth,” Zaf says quietly near her ear then, almost making her jump. When had he got so good at sneaking up on people? “We were really worried about you.”

“So was I,” she smiles, “but all's well that ends well. Did you find them and stop them, Zaf?”

He nods and murmurs, “Just two hours ago after we got word from Harry.” She opens her mouth to ask for more information, but he squeezes her arm gently and whispers with a meaningful glance at Fred, “Tell you more later.”

Barely five minutes later, they're all ready to leave, Harry sporting a brand new bandage on his head as he shakes Fred's hand and thanks him for his help.

“Don't mention it,” Fred smiles. “Most excitement I've had since my Ellie passed. Life's rather dull up here.”

She watches Harry nod and smile before he turns to join Adam and Zaf outside, leaving her alone with Fred. She sees the three of them immediately strike up a conversation as they walk towards the chopper, Harry clearly listening to an update on everything he's missed.

He doesn't look nearly as frightening as he had last night, she thinks as she turns to Fred and smiles at him. In fact, he looks sad and lonely, and she suspects that his unkempt hair and facial hair are a result of not having anyone to look good for any more. A surge of sympathy and concern for him bubbles up inside her as she thanks him for his help, promising to return the clothes he's so kindly lent her.

“Don't worry about it, Lass,” he smiles. “You keep 'em. My Kate won't be needing them any more.” She frowns at that and he sighs and adds, “She was killed in action... in Iraq. Broke my Ellie's heart.”

“Oh, Fred,” she exclaims with feeling, reaching forward to touch his arm as she realises the enormity of what this man has lost. “I'm _so_ sorry.”

“Thanks, Lass,” he smiles, patting her hand as tears glisten in his eyes. “You take good care of yourself now, see? Don't let your boss get you into any more trouble, you hear?”

“Boss?” she frowns. “Oh, you mean my husband.”

“Husband my foot,” he laughs, making her eyes widen in surprise. “Bet he'd like to be though,” he smiles. “Bet you'd both like that.” She blushes and looks away, feeling mortified that he'd heard them last night. “Nothing to be ashamed of, Lass. Keep him in the bedroom is my advise. Safest place for the both of you,” he grins, leaving her speechless.

Luckily, however, she hears Adam calling her then, so she swiftly makes her excuses and leaves, relieved beyond words to escape as she rushes to the door where Adam's just appeared. “We need to go,” he says impatiently.

“D'you have a copy of the Official Secrets Act on you?” she asks.

“Yes,” he frowns. “Why?”

“I think you need to ask Fred to sign it. He's smarter than he looks,” she replies with a smile before she walks over to the chopper and gets in.

She looks out the window as they take off, soaring over the house and towards the coast, heading home. She sees the beach where Fred had found them, looking calm and beautiful in the early morning light after the storm, and she's struck by a sudden desire to visit this place again someday before her attention is claimed by Zaf who shouts over the noise, “So what's it like being married to Harry, Ruth?”

She turns to him, seeing his cheeky grin and the mischievous look in his eyes before glancing at the others, Harry's face calm and unreadable and Adam's mirroring Zaf's. “I don't know, Zaf,” she shrugs. “It was only ten hours or so, and I slept through most of it. It was all right.” Harry's eyes twinkle at her, so she swiftly looks away, determinedly pushing aside thoughts of what happened while they were awake last night and very early this morning.

“So... does Harry snore?” Adam asks with a grin and she knows that he's watching her reaction very carefully despite his teasing, apparently relaxed attitude; he's a spook after all.

“I wouldn't know,” she replies serenely, not quite sure how much the two have ascertained about their sleeping arrangements last night and not wanting to risk appearing as if she's hiding something. “I sleep like a log. I've been known to sleep straight through fire alarms at Uni.” Then she turns to look out the window again, but not before she sees the quick shrug Adam gives Zaf. Good, she thinks with relief, hopefully she's dispelled any suspicions they have about what happened between her and Harry.  


	10. Chapter 10

_Much later that night_

 

It's late, past midnight, but she can't sleep. She's been tossing and turning since she got into bed, unable to settle down despite her initial relief in finding herself at home, among her things and with her cat. Every time she closes her eyes she's plagued by images and emotions from the last seventy-two hours, her capture, her time in the cabin with Adam, Harry, swimming to shore, the terror of the storm, of thinking Harry dead, of the sexual assault. It's only the thought of what came after, of Harry and what happened between them, that keeps the daemons at bay and stops her from losing control and breaking down completely, but with the feelings of pleasure, come the doubts that make sleep just as elusive.

And then, on top of everything else, returning to the grid had been hard – having to relive it all during her debriefing conducted by Adam and Fiona, and then write up her report which, to be fair, she'd insisted she do today though Adam had suggested she leave it until tomorrow. She'd wanted to get it all over with, put it behind her and move on, but by the time she'd finished, she'd been utterly exhausted.

Adam had insisted that she go home early for a change, making sure that she was off the Grid by the very reasonable hour of five o'clock. He'd even offered her a pool car, but she'd insisted that she'd rather make her own way home. She'd wanted to walk for a bit along the Thames to clear her head and she's still not sure if Adam would have let her go, but luckily he'd been called away to deal with a phone call from Juliet Shaw as Harry had been with the DG, and she'd escaped before he could return and insist she be driven home.

She'd enjoyed her walk by the river, managing to shake off the fear of being abducted again and ending up feeling renewed by it and the chance to get lost in the crowd, become an anonymous citizen going about her business like everyone else. It helped to know that all the people who'd done this were safely under lock and key in the bowels of Thames House, being interrogated and unlikely to see the light of day any time soon. Besides she's always found it comforting to walk and take the bus to and from work. It relaxes her, makes her feel normal, like she fits in and belongs, as well as serving as a reminder of why she does her job as she watches the people around her, all of them so different from each other and yet so alike too. And anyway, as touched as she'd been by Adam's concern for her, she was getting a little tired of it and needed a break.

She sighs and gets out of bed, grabbing her phone and pulling on her dressing gown and slippers before she goes back downstairs and into the kitchen. Perhaps a cup of tea and some mindless TV will help her get her mind to slow down and stop analysing everything that's happened in the last seventy two hours, particularly the events of last night with Harry, she thinks as she fills up the kettle and flicks it on. She pulls a mug out of the cupboard, but no sooner has she put it on the counter, when her phone chirps. She glances at the kitchen clock as she slips her hand into her pocket to retrieve it. It's twenty two minutes past twelve, she sees, frowning as she opens the text she's just received.

'Hi. Are you awake?' she reads.

Harry. Dear, sweet, wonderful Harry, she thinks with a smile as all her worries melt away for a few moments and she basks in the knowledge that he's been thinking of her too. 'Yes. Are you still at work?' she replies quickly and hits send before she can change her mind, or spend too long analysing what she should write and how he will interpret it.

'No. Meeting's over. I'm in the car,' he answers a few seconds later.

'You shouldn't text and drive,' she admonishes lightly, practically grinning as she turns towards the kettle that's just finished boiling, enjoying this new and exciting medium of communication with him; it's so much easier to say _anything_ to him like this – when she can't see his reaction, hear his voice or get flustered by his physical presence and what it does to her, and she finds herself feeling a new appreciation for texting in general. She's never quite seen the point of it before and the shorthand people use just drives her crazy, particularly when it creeps into other forms of written communication that don't have a character limit.

'I'm not driving,' is his quick reply, distracting her from her musings on the deterioration of English grammar and spelling use today.

'Right. I forgot. Geoff or Mike tonight?'

'Neither. I sent Mike home earlier.' She frowns, rereading the message and trying to make sense of it. A taxi, she wonders, another driver?... And then it comes to her as, with her heart trying to practically leap out of her chest in excitement and hope, she dashes to the living room and peers through the curtains, trying hard not to make them move. The car is in shadow, two houses down and on the opposite side of the street, but she's almost certain it's his even though she can't see anyone inside. She straightens up and hesitates for a moment before she quickly types, 'Come in, Harry. The kettle's just boiled,' and presses send before she can change her mind. Then with trembling hands, she slips the phone back into her pocket, moves back to the kitchen, pulls out another mug and makes them both a cup of tea, needing to keep her hands and mind busy to stop her doubts, apprehension and excitement from overwhelming her.

The sound of the doorbell, though half-expected, has her jumping out of her skin, a bit of milk spilling onto the counter-top at the sudden jolt, and she curses before mopping it swiftly up and hurrying to the door. It's only as she glances at her appearance in the mirror that she realises she's dressed for bed. “Bugger,” she mutters under her breath, hesitating for a few seconds until she decides that there's not much she can do about it now. If she goes upstairs to change, he'll likely have gone home by the time she comes back down to answer the door, so taking a deep, calming breath, she pulls open the front door.

“Hi,” she smiles as she steps back, pulling the door with her, her right hand nervously holding the top of her dressing gown closed.

“Hello,” he murmurs, stepping through the doorway and into her hall, his gaze warm and gentle as he scans her face and quickly skims over the rest of her before returning to her eyes.

She closes and locks the door behind him, trying to swallow her nerves before turning to face him again, but failing quite spectacularly. How does he do this, she wonders as she gazes into his eyes that are alight with guarded hope and joy. How does he make her feel all these emotions simultaneously and render her suddenly inarticulate and unable to think straight? At work, well, there's work to distract her and give her something to focus on, but here or anywhere else when they're alone, she can't _breathe,_ let alone think or speak. And what's more, since yesterday, it seems to be a thousand times worse. She keeps feeling the echo of his hands and lips on her skin, the way his eyes had gazed at her and he'd moved inside her.

“How... how's your head?” she stutters, latching onto the first coherent thought that flits through her mind as she scans his face and voicing it.

“Fine,” he smiles. “And you? How are you feeling, Ruth?”

“Good,” she nods, dropping her gaze for a moment before lifting it to his again. “Fine.”

He takes a step towards her and she finds her gaze falling to his lips as his does the same and he whispers, “May I?”

“Yes!” she screams inside her head, “God, yes. I've been waiting for this all day,” yet all she can manage is a small nod. It is enough, however, and soon his lips are softly pressing against hers, and before she knows what's happening, they're locked in a tight embrace, her hands gripping his jacket, his arm wrapped around her waist, his tongue delving deeply, deliciously into her mouth, sending shivers of pleasure up and down her spine.

“Come upstairs,” she pants when they break apart for air before she even has time to think.

“Ruth,” he murmurs softly as he pulls back a little to look at her, and she can hear the hesitation in his voice though his eyes are brimming with desire, and it makes her doubt herself, bringing her back to her senses like an ice cold shower. What if he's here to end it, to let her down gently?

She looks away in embarrassment and pain, murmuring, “Tea. I... I've made us some tea,” and turning towards the kitchen, but she doesn't get very far before his hand grips her wrist, halting her motion.

“Ruth,” he says urgently, moving to stand in front of her and blocking the doorway to the kitchen, “look at me, Ruth... Please.” It takes her several seconds to regain her composure so she can lift her eyes to his, but she can't hold his gaze for long despite its warmth, dropping her eyes to gaze at his throat, noting for the first time that he's not wearing a suit and tie, but what looks like a dark blue polo shirt and a casual black jacket. “I _want_ to, Ruth,” he says huskily. “If only you knew how _much_ , how very tempting it is to just follow you upstairs and make love to you until-”

“Don't, Harry,” she objects, feeling the pain grip her heart like a vice, believing that he's lying. How could he be telling the truth? She's never been a very good lover, men have told her so before, and she's certainly not the type of woman to turn a man's head, especially a man of the world like Harry. She knows she's not bad looking, though she's far from beautiful, and that she has a brilliant mind, but she doesn't do relationships very well as she's timid, unsure of herself, and very guarded; she doesn't open up easily or allow herself to lose control. “There's no need to expl-”

“There's _every_ need to explain!” he growls, releasing her wrist and taking her hand in his, pulling it towards him and holding it against his chest. “I'm trying to do the right thing here, Ruth. You're the most wonderful, intriguing woman I know, and what I'm trying to say, rather inarticulately as it turns out, is that I want to spend time with you... to get to know you... away from work. And I _know_ that's never going to happen if we keep jumping into bed together at every opportunity before we've had a chance to talk... as incredibly tempting as that might be.”

“Twice could hardly be classified as _'keep'_ jumping into bed together, Harry,” she murmurs softly, glancing up and smiling shyly at him, a mixture of relief and hope blossoming in her chest.

“Perhaps not,” he agrees with a shy smile of his own, “but I don't want you to get the wrong idea about my intentions here, Ruth. I was serious last night when I said that I want to build a relationship with you... and I'm not entirely sure you believed me.”

“I...” she begins and tails off, not wishing to hurt his feelings by telling the truth and yet not wanting to lie either.

He leans forward, whispering close to her ear, “You can tell me the truth, Ruth. It's one of the things I really value and like about you. I can always rely on you not to mince words and give it to me straight. You have no qualms about telling me when you think I'm wrong... and I seem to recall you calling me a bastard on more than one occasion.”

She blushes and lifts her eyes to look at him as he pulls back smiling. “Yes, well,” she says, “you deserved it at the time.”

“No doubt,” he smirks. “And yet I'm still standing here, in your hall, at past midnight on a Friday night, wanting to spend time with you... So you see, you don't have to be scared of me, Ruth.”

“I'm not scared of you,” she replies indignantly, regaining some of her normal confidence as she realises that he's right; he's the same man he is at work – well, almost the same man – and seeing as he likes her enough to attempt to pursue a relationship with her, she should probably try to just be herself.

“Good,” he smiles. “Then perhaps you can find us some glasses and we can share this,” he adds, lifting his left hand and showing her a bottle of Argentinian Cabernet Sauvignon that, to her amazement, she's failed to notice he's been holding all this time, “while we have a nice conversation about why you think I'm a bastard.”

“I don't...” she begins but tails off when she sees the twinkle in his eye. “Watch it, Harry, or I might chuck you out on your ear,” she warns playfully, narrowing her eyes at him as he chuckles and sweeping past him into the kitchen to get the glasses.

“I'm not worried,” he smiles as he puts down the bottle on the kitchen counter and pulls off his jacket, draping it over the back of a kitchen chair and stepping behind her. He wraps his arms around her waist causing her breathing to hitch and her heart rate to sky-rocket as he presses a soft kiss against her jaw line before murmuring in her ear, “I know I can change your mind, Miss Evershed. You appear to be quite susceptible to my charms.”

“I think you'll find,” she sighs as she leans into him, marvelling at the absolute... _perfection_ of the moment, the feel of him against her, the heat radiating from his body and the churning of desire deep in her belly, “that I have rather more will power than you anticipate, Harry.”

“And I think _you'll_ find, Ruth,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss against her cheek and releasing her to open the wine, “that I'm rather more persistent than _you_ anticipate, not to mention extremely talented in... certain areas.”

He winks at her and she can't help giggling, feeling herself begin to relax in his presence like never before, and as she turns to retrieve the corkscrew, hands it to him and watches as he opens and pours the wine, she can't help marvelling at how different he is from the Harry she sees at work. She would never have believed that he could be so relaxed, warm, playful and happy... and just as sexy in a polo shirt and black jeans as he is in his Savile Row suits.

“Penny for them,” he says, turning towards her and handing her a glass of wine.

“Back to mere pennies now, are we?” she smiles, taking a sip of her wine. “Mmm,” she hums in appreciation. “This is delicious.”

She watches him take a sip too and nod in agreement. “Quite quaffable,” he agrees, then putting down his glass, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few coins from which he extracts a two pound piece and holds it out of her, saying, “Here. Two pounds for them. How's that?”

She laughs, and taking the coin from his palm and setting down her glass next to his, she pretends to examine it carefully. “Seems genuine,” she volunteers, grinning up at him.

“As if I'd ever try to cheat you, Ruth,” he says in mock outrage, but it doesn't make her smile. In fact, it serves to remind her of all the doubts she has about this, them together, and she drops her gaze to the coin in her hands and begins toying with it nervously. “So... what were you thinking?” he prompts after a beat before taking another sip of his drink, seemingly unaware of her shift in mood, or perhaps just unsure of what to make of it or do about it.

She picks up her glass to take another generous sip of wine, shaking herself free of her depressing thoughts before she says quietly, “I was thinking that you're very different tonight... away from work, I mean.”

“In what way?” he asks softly.

She doesn't answer straight away, needing more time to compose herself and her thoughts, so instead she leads him through to the living room, taking a seat on the sofa and watching him sit down beside her and place the wine bottle on the coffee table before turning to look at her in expectation. “You're softer somehow,” she says eventually, “happier, more relaxed, funny.”

“Well, I can hardly go around cracking jokes all the time at work, Ruth,” he objects.

“Yes, I know,” she smiles, remembering that awful joke he'd made on her first day, but deciding against teasing him about it; she can't quite find the courage for that yet, so she turns to her wine instead and is surprised to find that she's almost drunk a full glass already.

“No one shows all the sides of their character at work, Ruth,” he shrugs eventually, lifting the bottle to top up their glasses, “especially in our business. You're quite different yourself tonight.”

“Oh?” she queries, wondering how he sees her and fearing to hear it at the same time.

“You're a lot less confident,” he smiles. “You're shy and more tense, and yet... playful, witty, and a bit of a tease.” She looks down nervously, but he won't let her get away with it. He leans towards her and lifts her chin gently with his fingertip until she's looking into his eyes. Then he smiles and murmurs, “And I'm finding you quite as irresistible as the brilliant, confident, no-nonsense, brave Ruth I see daily at work.”

He leans forwards then and presses his lips softly, chastely against hers before pulling back and taking another sip of his wine. He leans back against the cushions, watching her, and after the silence drags on a bit, she can't help trying to fill it. “I'm not very good at this sort of thing,” she admits quietly, surprising herself by opening up so quickly on what is, to all intents and purposes, a first date.

“This sort of thing?” he asks, his voice soft and warm, inviting confidence.

He must be one hell of an interrogator, she thinks fleetingly before explaining, “Getting to know people... relationships... opening up... I know where I am with work and I know I'm good at it, but this...” She shrugs helplessly and takes another gulp of wine.

“Well,” he frowns thoughtfully, “if it's any consolation, I'm quite rubbish at it myself.”

“No, you're not,” she objects. “You're quite... smooth.”

“That's just training,” he says, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “Anyone can learn it and, when you've practised it enough, you don't feel self-conscious any more and it's easy.”

She swallows hard at his admission and takes another gulp of wine. “Well, that's reassuring then,” she blurts out, feeling all tense and agitated again, and half-wishing they'd skipped this and just gone to bed instead because she can't quite bring herself to wish that none of this had happened. Besides, she's quite desperate to find out if their first time together was so... spectacular just because of the situation they'd found themselves in, the relief of having survived, or if it was a result of them really being such a perfect fit.

He sighs and lifts his hand to rub his face before admitting, “See? What did I tell you? Rubbish at it.” He sits up then and leans towards her, reaching for her hand and murmuring huskily, “The thing is, Ruth, charm and seduction may be easy to come by and use as a means to an end, but they don't work long term. And that's the part I struggle with. Like you, I don't trust or open up readily, so it's been easier for me to remain unattached. I haven't wanted to do this, spend time with someone like this, in years, Ruth. But in the last few months, I've found myself... _longing_ for it, for this... with _you_.”

She exhales heavily, releasing the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, pulling her hand out of his, and exclaiming, “God, Harry! How am I supposed to trust you when it's so _easy_ for you to get a woman to want to just... drop her knickers and climb on top of you?”

He blinks in surprise before grinning at her in pleasure at her admission. “Give in to the temptation?” he suggests cheekily.

“I'm _serious_!” she exclaims, glaring at him even as she blushes, the wine making her bolder.

“I know you are. I'm sorry,” he repents, gazing at her with soft, tender eyes. “But I'm afraid that I don't know the answer to that one... All I can say is that I _hope,_ with time, when I'm with you, and _only_ you, every chance I get for months on end, you'll believe me when I say that I... care for you, Ruth, and I want you, this, us... together. This is the best evening I've had in ages. You said that I'm relaxed and happy just now?” She nods. “Well, that hasn't happened since... well, last night actually, but before that it had been years. _You_ do that for me, Ruth.”

She sighs and leans into his side, allowing him to wrap his arm around her shoulders as she rests her head on his shoulder, remembering when he'd mentioned the English Patient at Fred's place and how embarrassed he'd been when she'd teased him about how long it's been since he went to see a film, and realising that he's probably being honest right now; he probably hasn't dated much since he became Section Head. After all, she knows how hard he works, how many hours he puts in at the Grid in addition to all the meetings he attends. He's almost always still there when she leaves every night, typically late enough to catch the last bus, and she knows his driver picks him up at six each morning. Her heart expands at the realisation that, for whatever unfathomable reason, he really _does_ think her special, and it makes her chest fill with a warm glow as she smiles softly, reaching for his hand that's resting on his thigh and taking it between her own.

“But aren't you nervous, Harry?” she asks softly after a bit as she strokes his large fingers absently.

“Of course,” he nods. “Aren't you?”

“I'm terrified,” she admits.

“Terrified?” he frowns. “Of me?”

“God, no!” she exclaims. “Of messing this up, of not being any good at it and making you hate me.”

“I could never hate you, Ruth,” he murmurs softly, running his thumb across the back of her hand and squeezing her shoulder.

“You might,” she counters, “if I hurt you, or shot you, or something.”

“Even then,” he chuckles, thankfully realising that she was joking, at least about the shooting part. “Tom shot me, and I don't hate him.”

“Well, that's a relief,” she smiles, looking up at him. “I bet you'd like it if someone shot _him_ though, so he knows what it feels like.”

“Oh, he knows,” he sighs. “And I suspect he suffered quite a bit for what he did. Must have been hell to see all you've built crumble around you, to have no one to trust, no one to turn to, not even your partner or friends.”

“Yes,” she nods, thinking of Tom and all that had happened to him and the team, Zoe, Danny. “I'm glad you're here, Harry,” she whispers eventually.

“I'm glad I'm here too,” he smiles, pressing his lips against her forehead.

“No, I meant here in section D,” she explains, adding hastily, “and here with me,” when she sees his face fall. “What I mean to say is that I'm glad we... _I_ have you to rely on at work.”

“Not just at work, Ruth,” he murmurs. “Here too. Everywhere. If you ever need anything...”

“If you ever need a helping hand, I'll be there on the double just as fast as I can?” she quotes with a smile.

“Yes,” he replies. “Where's that from?”

“Ain't no mountain high enough,” she smiles. “You know, the song. I was watching a film earlier. I don't remember what it was called. Something with Julia Roberts.”

“Any good?” he asks.

“Don't know,” she sighs. “I was trying to get my mind off... everything. It didn't work, so I really couldn't tell you much about the film.”

“Everything?” he murmurs softly.

“The boat, the storm,” she admits, “and especially... you.”

He twists his body round to face her, pulling his arm from around her shoulders and shifting forwards on the sofa. “Ruth,” he asks softly, “do I make you... feel uncomfortable? Would you prefer me to go?”

“No,” she shakes her head, “not if you want to stay.”

He smiles tentatively, but then his face turns serious again as he murmurs, “Ruth, I need to know... Do you feel that you _have_ to do this, be with me after... what happened between us _because_ I'm your boss? Is that why you invited me in tonight?”

“No, Harry,” she replies quickly. “No, that's not why I invited you in tonight. I'd _never_ sleep my way to the top, and if I thought for a moment that you were the type of man to use your junior staff in that way, I'd resign immediately and probably call you something much worse than a bastard.” She sees him smile at that before she adds, “I feel... I've wanted... _this_ for ages. The attraction between us is mutual, Harry, and if you... want... feel...” She sighs in frustration, unable to articulate what she wants to say without laying herself wide open to him, and she's not ready for that yet. “Can we just... talk about something else, Harry? I've had too much wine to think straight and it's late.”

“Of course,” he smiles. “You're right. It _is_ late. I should go home and leave you to sleep. I didn't mean to disrupt your rest. I just... I needed to see you. I haven't had a chance all day.”

“How did you know I'd be awake?” she asks, remembering that he'd been texting her from right outside her house at past midnight.

“I didn't,” he admits. “I couldn't sleep, so I got in my car and drove here only to find the house in darkness. I don't know what I was thinking... But just as I was about to drive off again, I saw your light come on upstairs, and then the one in the kitchen. I almost rung you, but then I thought that might be a tad presumptuous. So I sent a text instead... that way, you could ignore it if you wished.”

“But I didn't,” she smiles.

“No, you didn't,” he agrees with a warm smile that has her heart skipping a beat. “You worked out where I was, invited me in, and almost dragged me up to your bed to ravish me in the moonlight.”

“Harry!” she exclaims, blushing furiously and lowering her gaze. “I didn't... I don't...” He laughs, a warm, rich sound that has her raising her eyes to watch him despite her embarrassment. “Insufferable man,” she grumbles, making him laugh harder, so she glares at him, gets up and carries the glasses into the kitchen in mock offence.

He sobers instantly and follows her with the empty bottle of wine and an apologetic look on his face, stopping in the kitchen doorway. “Sorry,” he murmurs as she turns and walks towards him, looking at her with puppy-dog eyes. “I couldn't resist.”

“Try,” she admonishes lightly, handing him his jacket that she's retrieved from the back of the kitchen chair and taking the empty bottle from his hands, determined not to let him see how scared she is of being alone again with her daemons tonight. If he wants to go home, she's not going to beg him to stay just to keep her company. Disadvantage number one of dating the boss, she realises – you can't let him think you weak.

“I will,” he nods before he slips his jacket on and moves to the front door while she puts the bottle down and follows him. He turns to face her, murmuring, “Thanks for a lovely evening, Ruth. I'll see you tomorrow... actually, later today... at work.”

“Yes,” she smiles, stepping closer and turning her face up towards his in invitation. She wants to reassure him that she's not angry and desperately needs to feel his lips on hers again before he goes.

He smiles and steps close, lifting one hand to cup her cheek and wrapping his arm around her waist as he leans slowly towards her, watching her intently. She sighs and closes her eyes in anticipation and when she feels his lips press against hers, it is the most wonderful feeling in the world. They're so soft and gentle, so... loving. Could she be so lucky, she wonders, deepening their kiss and feeling him respond.

It is their most passionate kiss yet, the wine, or perhaps their honest conversation, making them bolder and deepening the connection between them so that, soon, she's moaning in his arms. “Stay,” she whispers against his lips before coming back for more, her hands gripping the back of his jacket and her body pressing against his. He groans and pulls her harder against him, his right hand slipping behind her neck to cradle her head as his left arm tightens around her middle and it's only the feel of her hand slipping down to stroke him through his jeans that has him pulling back.

“Ruth,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against hers, “I should-”

“Stay,” she interrupts, needing him desperately, not just to keep her daemons at bay or for the physical pleasure, but also because she needs to know for sure that what they have is special and worth her risking so much for it. “Let me take you upstairs and ravish you in the moonlight.” He groans, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on her hips, where his hands are now resting, and she knows she's almost seduced him. “Please, Harry. I need this. I need to know.”

“Know what?” he asks huskily, lifting his head to look at her.

“If... if it was just a... just the adrenaline,” she whispers, dropping her gaze from his to her hands that are resting on his chest now. Then she lifts her eyes to his again and murmurs, “Please, Harry, if you want me, stay. Plea-” But she doesn't get to finish her sentence before his lips are on hers again, hungry and insistent, and his body is pressing her into the wall behind her.

 


	11. Chapter 11

She leads him by the hand up the stairs, feeling her heart beat fast with anticipation and nerves. Thank God she spent this afternoon and early evening doing a bit of tidying up and cleaning, putting fresh sheets on her bed and towels in the bathroom, she thinks as they reach the landing and she turns left, opening the door to her bedroom before turning to glance up at his face. “This is it,” she smiles nervously before letting go of his hand and walking into the dark room. She doesn't want the overhead light on, it's too bright, so she crosses the room quickly and pulls aside the curtains, letting in the soft glow from the street lights outside. “Bloody London weather,” she murmurs to break the tension as she glances at him over her shoulder. “Too many clouds; there's no moonlight.”

He chuckles and moves towards her, coming to stop beside her and lifting his hand to her waist, using it to guide her round to face him. “I'm glad,” he murmurs.

“You're glad?” she frowns, scanning his face in puzzlement. “Why?”

“Because it means two things,” he whispers, trailing his hands up from her waist to her shoulders under her dressing gown, softly caressing the sides of her breasts through her pyjama top in the process and making her breath hitch.

“Which are?” she asks a little breathlessly as he pushes her dressing gown off her shoulders and it falls to the floor with a quiet whoosh.

His hands grip her hips again as he leans in and presses his lips softly against her cheek bone, trailing kisses round to her ear and murmuring, “Firstly because it means I can be the one to do the ravishing tonight.” She moans in pleasure as his lips close around her earlobe and she grips his shoulders with her hands, feeling a part of her melt at his words and the rest at the feel of his warm mouth on her skin. “And I've always wanted to do that, Ruth,” he adds huskily, his hands slipping under her pyjama top to caress her stomach and sides as his lips find their way to her neck.

She moans, pulling him closer, her fingers spreading into the curls at the nape of his neck as she gasps, “And secondly?” fighting to keep track of their conversation.

“Secondly,” he murmurs, lifting his head until their eyes meet and holding her gaze with his beautiful, now smouldering, hazel eyes, “it means that we'll have to do this again... soon... on a moonlit night... so you can keep your promise.” Then his lips find hers and she's lost as, for the second time in as many nights, her body takes over, her mind emptying of everything but him and her, together in this moment.

She pulls him towards the bed, their lips still locked together, their hands sliding under clothes and exploring bare skin. His touch is teasingly soft and gentle and it sends shivers running up and down her spine as his lips devour her, sucking on her lips, her chin, her jaw, her neck and moving back again for more. Soon they're sprawled on the bed on top of the covers, their mouths fused together, his body half covering hers while he supports himself on his left forearm and wraps his fingers in her hair, leaving his right hand free to explore, to tease her, running softly over her skin, her stomach and higher, her breast, her nipple. She moans into his mouth, the sensations exquisite as she clings to him with her hands and wraps her left leg around him, anchoring him to her and pushing herself against him, feeling his hardness against her hip. She moans again in pleasure as he responds, but next moment, she feels a stab of pain as his hand begins to kneed her flesh more firmly and she can't help the whimper that escapes her lips.

He pulls back at once, murmuring huskily, “Ruth?” as he stills and looks down at her, frowning in concern. “Are you all right?”

She nods, not wanting him to know, to see the marks on her skin. She'd hoped that he wouldn't notice the bruises in the dim light, but she'd somehow forgotten how much more tender they are tonight compared to yesterday.

“Are you sure?” he asks softly, scanning her face, clearly not convinced.

“Yes,” she whispers. “It's just my... breasts. They're a little... tender tonight.”

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, looking contrite. “I'll be more gentle.”

She nods, not wanting to think about it any more, and she slips her hand behind his neck and pulls him towards her until their lips meet in a soft kiss. She runs her tongue over his lower lip and hears him groan in pleasure before he deepens their kiss, his right hand gliding down her side and slipping under her pyjamas to kneed her bum, rocking her against him, her heat rubbing against his thigh and his cock nudging into her hip, making them both moan. Soon his hand has worked its way round, over her thigh to her slickness and she feels his fingertips glide gently across her several times, bringing her so much pleasure that when he slips his fingers inside her and his thumb brushes against her clit a few times, she climaxes powerfully, arching her back towards him and moaning in ecstasy. She slumps back against the bed, totally exhausted, her muscles lax, her eyelids heavy. She feels him moving, jogging the bed, but she can't lift her eyelids and all she can manage to do is whimper, lifting her hand towards him, worried he's leaving. “Don't go,” she breathes.

He chuckles softly and presses his lips against hers before murmuring, “I wouldn't dream of it. You're so beautiful, Ruth, especially when you come. I don't think I'll ever get enough of you. Let me look at you.”

She hums in pleasure and feels his hands grip her pyjama bottoms and pull them off, taking her knickers with them and gently pushing her knees apart, and she's so lost in a fog of deep lassitude, that she doesn't even feel self-conscious about him gazing at her naked sex. She feels his lips gently kiss her mound and moans in pleasure as he moves lower, his tongue venturing out to taste her, his lips closing around her clit and sucking on it gently while his fingers caress her thighs and slip inside her. “Oh God, Harry,” she pants, finding her voice as the energy begins to build inside her once more.

She opens her eyes and finds him watching her, his eyes intense and hungry, peeking above her pubic bone as he laps at her sex, and it's possibly the most erotic sight she's ever seen. “Harry,” she gasps, closing her eyes momentarily as he does something exquisite with his tongue and moaning in pleasure, but she forces them open again and murmurs, “I want you, Harry. Come here.”

He doesn't hesitate, planting a soft kiss against her pussy and sitting up between her legs before reaching for the condom that's lying on the bed. “ _You're_ well prepared,” she comments in surprise as she watches him rip open the packet and extract the latex tube, noticing that he's taken all his clothes off already.

“I was a scout,” he smiles, looking up at her with twinkling eyes, “not to mention an army officer _and_ a spy. I think, at this point, it's probably ingrained in my DNA.” He slips it on and leans over her, supporting his weight on his forearms and kissing her lips softly before adding, “Besides, we can't keep having you visit the doctor everyday, Ruth. Once was understandable, but more would be careless bordering on irresponsible.”

“Everyday?” she teases, reaching her hands up to stroke his naked skin, his chest, his sides, his back and shoulders. “ _You're_ optimistic!”

“I know,” he smiles, “one of my biggest faults. Cheerful and optimistic – that's me.”

She laughs and lifts her head to kiss him, feeling her heart expand with love for him. She wraps her legs around his hips and feels him push into her, filling her slowly with his length as their kiss becomes deeper and they both moan in pleasure. Her hands roam over his bare back, delighting in the feel of him as he begins to move inside her, slowly and steadily, sending sparks of pleasure straight through her.

“Oh God, Ruth,” he groans as they break apart for air, “you feel so good... so very good.” He drops his face to nuzzle her neck, trailing kisses down towards her chest, kissing and licking her skin as his hands begin to unbutton her pyjama top, and it feels so exquisite that she doesn't react until it's too late.

He lifts his head to look at her and she sees his face and body freeze in shock, bringing her back to her senses with a jolt. “Christ!” he exclaims and she feels him pull aside her pyjama top as he shifts his weight onto his left arm. “Oh God, Ruth. I didn't do this, did I?” he asks, his eyes darting up to hers and she feels tears spring to her own as she shakes her head no. So much for forgetting about it.

“He... he...” she chokes out, swallowing convulsively in an effort to keep her emotions in check, but finding herself unable to finish the sentence without breaking down. Her left hand reaches to close her top as she sees his eyes flash, his jaw set and his nostrils flaring in anger, but he takes her hand in his to stop her, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he seeks to control his emotions.

When he opens his eyes again, his gaze is soft with compassion as he lets go of her hand and strokes her cheek with his fingertips before lowering his gaze again to look at the damage. “Oh, Ruth. It must be so tender. Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn't...” she stammers, still fighting to keep the tears at bay. “It looks...” She turns her face away from him in embarrassment as she struggles to maintain control, pulling her top closed and, this time, he doesn't attempt to stop her.

“Ruth,” he murmurs softly. “Look at me, Ruth.” She feels his fingers stroke her cheek, coaxing her gently to turn to him, and when she does, his eyes are soft and gentle as he whispers, “You're beautiful, Ruth. So beautiful. It's just bruising. It will fade.” He smiles softly and she nods, unable to speak and yet feeling so grateful that he's being so gentle and kind, especially since they're in the middle of making love and she knows it can't be easy for him to just stop. “But even if it never did, Ruth,” he adds, his eyes shining with an odd mixture of tenderness and fierceness, “you'd still be beautiful and I'd still want you. This doesn't define who you are, or how much you are... valued, how much I care.” And now she can't hold back the tears, turning her face towards his left shoulder as her body begins to shake with quiet sobs.

“Hush,” he murmurs softly and she feels him slip out of her and move over to lie beside her, pulling the covers out from under them and wrapping his right arm around her as he covers their bodies and presses his lips against her forehead, holding her against his strong, broad chest. “It's all right, Ruth,” he coos, “I've got you. He can't harm you any more; he's dead... It's all over now... I'm here; you're safe.”

And now that the floodgates have opened, she can't stop weeping, sobbing against his chest as she wraps her arms around him and clings to him for dear life, crying her heart out over what happened, what didn't happen, and what could have happened. His fingers are running through her hair, his hand rubbing her back, his lips pressing soft kisses against her forehead and whispering words of comfort, supporting her and making her feel safe so she can let it all out.

Eventually, she runs out of tears and she begins to quieten in his arms, feeling acutely embarrassed to have fallen apart like this. So much for being strong in front of Harry, she thinks grimly. “I'm sorry,” she mutters against his chest and begins to pull away from him. “I didn't mean to-”

“It's all right, Ruth,” he interrupts, pressing his lips against her forehead again, not letting her turn away from him. “You have nothing to apologise for. I'm glad I was here. What you're going through... it's normal after such a... traumatic experience. And I can tell you, it's no fun going through it on your own.”

“You've... had that happen to you too?” she stammers in surprise, momentarily forgetting her embarrassment in her concern for him.

“Not the exact same thing, Ruth,” he says softly, “but I have been... interrogated in the past... on more than one occasion.”

“Interrogated?” she asks. “You mean tortured.”

“Yes,” he sighs.

“Oh Harry,” she frowns in concern, her mind flooding with images of Harry in pain, subjected to every type of torture she's seen pictures and videos of in all her time at Five.

“It's over and dealt with,” he shrugs, softly stroking her hair, “but the point is that the nature of the... experience makes little difference to how one responds to it. It still brings up the same feelings of shame, guilt, helplessness, fear, and even self-disgust, self-loathing, hopelessness, and despair... It takes time to... deal with all that, to process it and move past it, but the most important thing to realise right now, Ruth, is that it's not your fault. None of it. Not that they found out who you are, not that you were captured, not failing to escape, not that Adam or I were hurt and in danger, not that... that _despicable_ excuse for a man manhandled you and almost... raped you. _None_ of it is your fault, Ruth. Do you hear me? It's not your fault.” She nods, tears gathering in her eyes again and beginning to slide down her cheeks as she listens to him describe her feelings so accurately. “I'm going to keep telling you this everyday, Ruth, until you accept it and start telling yourself the same thing. It's not your fault.”

“But if I hadn't been captured,” she whispers softly, struggling to accept what he's saying, knowing that if she'd been a little more careful none of it would have happened, “then we'd have been safe, and you wouldn't have... almost died, or had to kill a man... for me.”

“Perhaps,” he concedes, pulling back a little to look at her. “But at what cost, Ruth? If you and Adam hadn't been captured, we could have lost them. They could have gone underground and we mightn't have been able to stop their attack on two of the busiest train lines in the country. How many people would have died then, Ruth? How much more damage would this group have caused in the future? How many more women would have suffered at the hands of that... _monster?..._ And how many more months, years even, would we have worked together, hoping for this intimacy between us, before one of us had the courage to do something about it?”

“I don't know,” she admits.

“We can't dwell on the what ifs, Ruth. It isn't healthy and it doesn't solve anything,” he smiles, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek, wiping away any remaining traces of her tears. “I learnt that the hard way, but you're much smarter than I. And if I can help you get past this because of some of the worst experiences of my life, then I will not have suffered in vein and that's another silver lining to add to the rest... When it gets too much, try to focus on the good that came out of it. How you stayed strong, how you escaped and swam for hours, how you saved my life, how your work helped capture a group of ruthless terrorists. Okay?”

She nods but can't help murmuring, “I didn't save you, Harry. That was Fred.”

“You pulled me out of the water and performed CPR long before Fred arrived on the scene, Ruth,” he replies, his eyes suddenly dark and intense. “You didn't give up on me and that means more to me than I could ever possibly say.”

She smiles softly, glancing down at his chin to avoid the intensity of his gaze for a moment before she looks back up at his eyes and whispers, “I couldn't bear to lose you. You mean too much to me for that.”

“Then I'm the luckiest man alive,” he murmurs huskily as he leans close and presses his lips softly against hers, his kiss gentle, chaste and yet so incredibly sensual too as he caresses her lips with his own and runs his thumb across her cheek and jaw, his fingers trailing along her neck. He pulls back, smiling softly and whispers, “Now... it's late. Time to sleep or tomorrow you'll be exhausted. I've kept you awake long enough.”

“But, Harry,” she protests, “you didn't... I mean, it's not fair,” she blushes as she struggles to find the words to express herself, but he comes to her rescue again.

“It's fine, Ruth,” he smiles. “I'm fine. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not some... randy teen who can't cope with a little... delayed gratification.”

“I _have_ noticed, Harry,” she replies, giving him a shy smile. “It's... you're quite... wonderful, but I'd still like to... _try_ to give you as much pleasure as you give me.”

“You do, Ruth,” he reassures her. “You do... so much more than you realise.” His gaze is soft and tender again and it makes her breath catch in her throat, unable to quite believe that she's not imagining all this. This is the Harry of her daydreams - kind, soft, loving, warm, considerate, generous, affectionate, supportive. Could he possibly be real? Isn't he just a figment of her imagination? How can the demanding, often angry, frequently devious, sometimes ruthless, and occasionally violent man she works for be the same person? “Let's sleep, Ruth,” he murmurs, interrupting her struggle to merge the two men into one. “It's late.”

She nods, unable to find her voice, and closes her eyes, scared that he can read all that she feels for him in her gaze. She hears his quiet whisper of goodnight and repeats it back to him, feeling his hand cover hers as it lies on the mattress between them.

When she wakes up the following morning, she's alone.

 


	12. Chapter 12

_Following morning - Saturday, 22nd October_

 

She opens her eyes and turns towards his side of the bed only to find it empty. The smile slips from her lips and she frowns, lifting her head to look around the room. He's not there, nor can she find any trace of his presence in her room last night other than the slight indentation in the pillow beside her and a gentle whiff of his scent clinging to it as she presses her face against it and inhales deeply. She wasn't dreaming then, she realises in relief as she turns her head to glance at the clock. It's just after eight in the morning and it's Saturday today, so she doesn't have to go into work as early as she normally would on a weekday. And besides, Adam had insisted that she take things easy over the next few days, suggesting that she consider taking a few days off, but she'd flatly refused to do that, telling him that she's fine and just wants to get back to work. In truth, the prospect of staying home all day with nothing to distracted her from her thoughts had seemed so terrifying that, when he'd reluctantly agreed to let her get back to work right away, she'd jumped at the chance despite the prerequisite that she have daily sessions with the resident MI-5 psychologist until she was given the all clear by her.

She gets out of bed and picks up her pyjama bottoms, knickers and her robe from the floor, pulling them all on and sliding her feet into her slippers, smiling softly as she moves over to the window to draw the curtains, amazed at how considerate he's been in pulling them closed when he got up, so the light didn't wake her. He really is such a wonderful man, she thinks in mild amazement as she moves towards the door, hoping he's still here despite the lateness of the hour. On the landing, she stops and listens for several seconds, but the house is quiet. “Harry?” she calls tentatively, but gets no response, so she peers into the bathroom and spare room, finding both doors ajar, before going downstairs to check the kitchen and living room. There's no sign of him anywhere, and a quick look in the hall confirms what she's been dreading since she woke up alone this morning. His shoes and jacket are both missing; he's gone.

She sighs sadly, trying to push aside her fear that she's driven him away somehow as she wonders back into the kitchen and fills up the kettle to make some tea, telling herself that there's no reason why he should be having second thoughts this morning and that he probably just needed to be at work early for some meeting or other. Things had been fine last night, even though she'd fallen to pieces in his arms, in the middle of sex, not really the smartest move she's ever made. But he'd seemed fine about it at the time and she _had_ offered to continue after she'd stopped blubbering all over him. Though now she comes to think of it, he was undoubtedly turned off by the whole weepy, pathetic look she must have had going on at the time.

“Stop it, Ruth,” she says out loud angrily as she flicks on the kettle. “You're being silly.”

There's a quiet meow in answer as Fidget enters the kitchen and pads over to her, wrapping himself around her legs once before she bends down to pick him up, cradling him in her arms as she smiles and strokes his soft fur. “ _You_ love me, don't you, Fidget?” she asks softly, “or is it just that you want your breakfast?” The cat purrs in answer as she strokes his soft, grey fur, and it's only then that it occurs to her that perhaps he's left a note. She glances up to check the kitchen table and counter, crosses the hall to check every flat surface in the living room and then goes back upstairs to the bedroom, abandoning Fidget on the way up with a quiet apology and a promise to get his breakfast soon when he squirms out of her arms. But it's no use; there's no note.

Her heart plummets once more and she sighs deeply before reluctantly going back to the kitchen to feed the cat and taking herself off to the bathroom to shower and get ready for her day. She slips out of her robe and pyjama top, staring at the bruises on her chest in the bathroom mirror as she fights to hold onto her composure, the sight of her marred skin bringing it all back, and she has to grip the basin with both hands and tell herself to breathe, closing her eyes and letting the memory of Harry's words wash over her and soothe her. But the fact that he's left this morning without saying goodbye or leaving a note diminishes their power significantly, and she finds herself doubting him, his honesty, his commitment and feelings for her.

She knows she's probably overreacting, reading too much into it, and that there's very likely a perfectly logical explanation for why he left without a word, but her emotions seem to be all over the place this morning and her normally level headed approach to life conspicuous by its absence. What if he no longer wants her now that he's seen how weak she is, she finds herself wondering. What if he thinks her damaged goods, needy, insecure? What if he transfers her out of section D as a result of her breakdown last night? Surely he would have left a note if everything was fine, wouldn't he? Wasn't that the normal thing to do?

She looks at herself in the mirror again. She's never been particularly beautiful and her body now is definitely showing signs of ageing. Why would a man such as Harry, who could have any woman he wanted, choose her? He wouldn't, she thinks sadly and feels tears spring to her eyes even as she tells herself to get a grip. Then she suddenly remembers her phone. What if he's left a message on that? A text like last night? With a growing sense of desperation and tears clouding her vision now, she pulls open the door and walks straight into Harry.

He catches her and his hands rise to her upper arms, steadying her for a moment as he smiles down at her and murmurs, “Good morning, Ruth,” in a warm voice, full of pleasure, but then he catches sight of her face and frowns in concern. “Ruth? What's the matter? What's wrong?”

She shakes her head, unable to speak as she buries her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around him in relief while she struggles for control, inwardly berating herself for doubting him and for falling apart in his arms _again._ He's going to think her utterly bonkers, she realises as she tells herself to stop being such a child and get a hold of herself.

He's silent as his warm hands move slowly up and down her bare back, stroking her delicately as he patiently waits for her to pull herself together, his lips pressing a soft kiss against her hair. “Sorry,” she murmurs after a few moments as she pulls back, wiping away her tears with her hands before lifting her eyes to his, keeping her arms in front of her chest to hide her nakedness as she blushes in embarrassment at the situation she's managed to land herself in again. “You must think me such a pathetic-”, but she doesn't get to complete the thought.

He presses his finger swiftly against her lips and shakes his head. “Don't even think about completing that sentence, Ruth. You're one of the bravest women I know.”

She looks away as he removes his finger, murmuring, “I don't feel very brave.”

“No one feels brave at the time,” he replies, cupping her cheek with his hand and turning her face towards him. “But you _are,_ Ruth. Brave and so strong.” She shakes her head and drops her gaze, so he adds, “Then think about it this way. If what happened had happened not to you, but to someone else... Zoe, for example, or me. If our positions were reversed now, would you think me brave?”

She looks up at him and finds his eyes on hers, warm and yet challenging. “Yes,” she admits quietly after a moment's deliberation.

“There you go then,” he smiles somewhat smugly.

“But that's different,” she objects. “I'm not your boss. I shouldn't be...” She tails off, seeing the frown that creases his brow and the flash of anger in his eyes as he drops his hand from her face.

“I'm not your boss either, Ruth,” he states flatly. “I'm not here as your boss and I won't be your boss again until I step out of your house and into my car.”

“But-” she begins to object but doesn't get any further.

“But nothing,” he states. “You're my girlfriend, and as such, you're free to laugh when you're happy, cry when you're sad, yell at me when you're angry, and even call me a selfish bastard when I leave the loo seat up, or scream at me to get out when I forget some anniversary or other.” She can't help smiling at that, glancing up at him to find a small smile on his lips and a tender look in his eyes as he adds softly, “Though of course, I'm hoping, you'll also want to kiss me and touch me... and ravish me in the moonlight.”

She nods, her smile broadening as she lifts her eyes to his. “You can count on it,” she says tilting her head up to receive his kiss and sighing into his mouth. Girlfriend, she thinks dreamily and feels her heart lift. He just called her his girlfriend.

“Good morning,” she smiles when they break apart, and then adds uncertainly, “I missed waking up beside you today.”

“Sorry,” he apologises. “I didn't want to wake you. You needed sleep.” Then he allows his gaze to drop from her face to her exposed skin for the first time, whispering, “You're so beautiful, Ruth.” His hands reach up to cup her shoulders and trail down her arms to her elbows, pulling them gently away from her naked chest so he can look at her. She allows him to pull them back, revealing her breasts and watching his reaction apprehensively, but she only sees pleasure in his face and just a hint of desire. “May I?” he asks softly as he lifts his eyes to hers. She nods and watches him lean towards her and softly brush his lips against her damaged skin, planting feather-light kisses over every inch of it as if trying to kiss her better, take away all the hurt and pain, physical and emotional, and almost moving her to tears again with his tenderness before he pulls back, saying, “Exquisite. You're exquisite, Ruth.” He lifts his eyes to hers and pulls her towards him, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his pelvis forwards so she can feel his arousal as he murmurs huskily in her ear, “See what you do to me, Ruth? I want you so much.”

“And I you,” she admits quietly, making him groan and turn his head to kiss her, a deep, passionate kiss that makes her toes curl and her head spin.

When he pulls back, he leans his head forward, resting his forehead against hers and taking deep lungfuls of air before murmuring huskily, “But unfortunately duty calls and this'll have to wait. I need to get to Whitehall.”

She sighs and pulls back, nodding her head. “Perhaps later then,” she says before she loses her nerve.

“I hope so, Ruth,” he smiles, running his hands down her arms to her elbows. “I need something to look forward to.”

She nods, feeling her cheeks heat up with pleasure as she dips her gaze to his throat, marvelling at how happy he makes her, and though part of her knows that the closer she lets him get, the harder will be the fall if he were to end it, she can't seem to help herself; she loves him too much already. She drops her gaze to his chest to hide these treacherous thoughts from him, and frowns as she realises that he's wearing different clothes to those he'd arrived in last night. “Did you go home to change?” she asks.

“I had a change of clothes in the car,” he replies.

She shakes her head and smiles at him. “You _were_ prepared,” she says.

He shrugs adorably and objects, “Not really. I just grabbed a suit before coming over and stopped at an off-licence on the way. The rest was already in the car.”

“Why?” she frowns.

“I keep a bag full of essentials in the boot... just in case,” he admits.

“Right,” she says, dropping her gaze from his as the implications of that statement sink in. “Well, I'd better get ready for work,” she adds, taking a step back into the bathroom as she turns to grasp the door, needing something to steady her. She raises her eyes to his briefly and gives him a small smile, trying desperately to hide the pain that's gripping her heart again at the realisation that she's just another notch on his bedpost.

He nods, frowning slightly as he asks, “Ruth... will you be okay?”

“Of course,” she smiles in an effort to convince him that everything's fine and feeling rather grateful, all of a sudden, that she's been all over the place this morning; it makes for a very good excuse for her current shifting mood. “I'll be fine, Harry.”

He doesn't look convinced, but doesn't press her, saying instead, “All right. I have to go, but I'll see you later, yes?” She nods, so he smiles, adding, “I've brought you coffee and a Danish pastry for breakfast. They're in the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” she says, her smile genuine now, feeling touched by his thoughtfulness and suddenly understanding his absence this morning.

“It's my pleasure, Ruth,” he smiles, looking less worried about her now. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against her lips before pulling back and adding, “See you later.”

“Bye, Harry,” she whispers and begins to close the door as he turns to go downstairs. Then she locks it and removes the rest of her clothes, turning on the shower and stepping in, her tears and sobs getting lost in the cascade of water falling on top of her.

 


	13. Chapter 13

_Two days later, Exeter – Monday, 24th October_

 

Adam had been right; she _does_ need time off work, not just because of what had happened on the op, but also because... well, because of Harry. As grateful as she is for his concern and support, the fact that they've embarked on this new relationship between them just after all that's happened to both of them is muddying the waters for her considerably, and she no longer knows which way's up, or whether she's coming or going.

After he'd left and she'd finally pulled herself together, got ready for work and gone downstairs into the kitchen, the sight of the breakfast he'd brought her laid out on a plate, the table set for one, and a note propped up against the paper cup holding her now, undoubtedly, stone cold coffee had almost reduced her to tears again, and she'd immediately realised how unfair she was being on him. He was trying _so_ hard to be sweet, and she was unable to see past her fears and insecurities long enough to really appreciate him and all that he was doing for her. And that's when she'd decided that she really wasn't ready to go back to work, and within a few minutes, she'd arranged everything, calling Adam and her mother before she'd made herself some tea and sat down to eat her breakfast, all the while staring at her phone as she tried to muster the courage to ring Harry.

In the end, her call had gone straight to voice mail where she'd left a short, somewhat flustered, and quite likely incoherent message, thanking him for coming over last night and for breakfast, and explaining that she felt she needed a few days away from London and was going to visit her mother. And now, here she is, staring out the kitchen window and wondering why he hasn't called.

He'd seemed so concerned for her two days ago. Could he really have forgotten about her already? Or is he, perhaps, angry that she'd left without a word when she'd promised to see him later and... No, she tells herself firmly. It can't be just about the sex. She'd already decided that on the train ride down here and she can't keep second guessing herself. After all, he'd told her as much when he'd come over, and besides, if it _had_ been all about the physical pleasure, then he wouldn't have hesitated when she'd invited him up to bed. There has to be more to it than that. The question is, how much more?

She hasn't slept well the last few nights, partly because of the nightmares that have plagued her, but also because she's been worrying about this very thing. How much does Harry Pearce really care for her? She knows how fiercely loyal he is when it comes to members of his team, how hard he works to keep them safe, how much it costs him when they are harmed, to what lengths he will go to protect and avenge them, and how hurt he is by any betrayal on their part. She's certainly part of that, part of his team, his surrogate family, and therefore, important to him in that way. But then there's also the physical attraction between them, which makes her skin flush and belly begin to churn with desire every time she thinks of it, the ghost of his touch and the echo of him inside her making her heart begin to pound and her palms to sweat. She wonders if he's affected by it just as deeply as she is, but then quickly dismisses the idea. He must have had so many women more experienced than her who could give him so much more pleasure. But then, why risk it? Why pursue something with her at all?

Not that their first time had been planned by either of them. It had just happened and now... she really can't work him out. Perhaps it's a mid-life crisis of sorts, she thinks with a frown, though it's hardly a typical way for it to manifest itself. Then again, unlike most men his age, he has enough excitement in his life to not need another source of it, so perhaps he's pursuing quite the opposite – companionship and intimacy, something he's been lacking for a very long time. But where does that leave her when he gets bored and restless again, as she's convinced that he eventually will? She sighs, rubbing her face with her hands.

“Tea, Darling?” her mother asks, stepping into the kitchen and almost making her jump.

“Christ, Mum!” she exclaims. “You scared me half to death.”

“Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you,” her mother smiles. “Tea?”

“Yes, please,” she nods, grateful for the distraction, and turns to help make it. It's been good to see her mother and she's pleased she decided to come down to stay with her and her step-father. Normally she's bored to death during her visits here and the endless shopping trips and dropping in to see relatives and family friends it entails, but this time, she's just grateful for the distraction they provide and her mother seems pleased by how focused and present she is, though Ruth's sure that, if she knew the real reason behind her determination to not let her thoughts wonder, she'd be horrified. Her mother still thinks she works for the Department for the Environment, Food and Rural Affairs and she'd like to keep it that way as she's a worrier and it wouldn't do her any good to know that Ruth's a spy.

Soon they're sipping their tea quietly, sitting on either side of the kitchen table, a plate of home-made shortbread biscuits between them. As Ruth reaches for one, her mother asks softly, “Are you quite all right, Ruth darling? You look so tired.”

“I'm fine, Mum,” she answers automatically, but seeing the worry in her mother's eyes as she sits back in her chair, she adds, “I haven't been sleeping well lately, that's all. Work's been busy and we've had to put in a lot of overtime.”

“Are you sure that's all, Darling?” she says. “You seem... different, a little troubled.”

“I'm fine, Mum,” she smiles. “ _Really._ ”

“You can talk to me, you know,” she offers then. “I know we haven't been... as close as we might have been, Ruth, and I'm sorry for that... but I'm still your mother and I love you.”

“I know, Mum,” she nods. “I love you too. It's been... good, coming here. Thank you.”

“I'm very glad you're here. We don't see you nearly as often as we'd like.”

“Well, work's busy,” she shrugs and takes another bite of her biscuit. “Where's David?” she asks, trying to chance the subject.

“Golf,” is her mother's simple reply.

“Ah,” she nods and falls silent again. In truth, she never knows what to talk to her mother about. As Elizabeth has just pointed out, they've never been close, not since she'd been sent off to boarding school from the age of eleven. It had been something her parents had always wanted for her, and she'd been looking forward to it herself, but then her father had been killed in that horrific car crash and she'd wanted to stay home, close to her memories of him. Her mother had insisted, however, and she _had_ eventually settled in and excelled, but deep down she's never really forgiven her mother for that, even though she knows that she did it because she thought is was best. “Were you and Dad happy, Mum?” she asks suddenly, taking both herself and her mother by surprise. “I mean, I know you loved him, but... were you happy?”

Her mother takes a sip of her tea, clearly unprepared for the question, before replying, “Yes. I mean we had our moments like every couple, but we were happy... and very much in love even after fifteen years of marriage. Why do you ask?”

“I don't know,” she murmurs, dropping her gaze to her hands that are fiddling with her tea cup. “I suppose I've always wondered. I have some very fond memories of Dad, but I also remember that he worked hard and wasn't always home.”

“Well,” she smiles, “he was a doctor... and I suppose, it did put some strain on our marriage from time to time, but overall, we were happy.” They're silent for some time before she speaks again, saying, “He was special, your father, and I loved him deeply. Losing him was... It broke my heart... And then you going off to school so soon after... It wasn't easy.”

“But I never wanted to go,” Ruth protests somewhat forcefully. “You made me go.”

“I know, Darling,” her mother agrees with a sad smile. “I thought it was for the best and you did so well in that school. Your father had really wanted you to go there because he knew you'd get an excellent education and you were so smart, Ruth. He wanted the best for you and I knew you'd be bored silly at the local secondary school. I couldn't go against his wishes... though it was hard for both of us at the time.”

Ruth frowns and drops her gaze to her cup of tea, struggling to digest this new piece of information. She's always blamed her mother for sending her away, not understanding the true reasons for her decision, or how hard it must have been for her to let her go. She's always assumed that her mother's motives had been primarily selfish, to get her out of the way. “And David?” she asks suddenly, lifting her eyes to her mother's face.

“He's a good man,” her mother replies after a momentary hesitation, “and I love him, but I was never _in_ love with him, and he knows that. I know you've always blamed me for marrying him so soon after your father's passing, and I have to say, I wasn't planning or expecting it myself. But he was good for me, Ruth. He made me smile and laugh again, and I needed that... I needed to put myself back together again and move on with my life.”

Ruth nods, wondering if she'd be able to do that if Harry... but she mustn't go there. Then as if her mother has read her mind, she asks gently, “You've met someone, haven't you? That's why you're asking me about your father and David, and why you haven't been sleeping well lately.”

She lifts her eyes to her mother's again, ready to deny everything, but something stops her at the last moment and she nods instead. Perhaps it's the recognition that her mother _does_ care for her, that she'd been wrong to think otherwise, or perhaps it's the realisation that she has no one else to talk to about this, but she suddenly wants to open up to her and ask for her advise. “Partly,” she murmurs after taking a sip of her tea, her eyes lowered once more. “He's... I've known him for a while now; we work together. And I've know for some time, I think, that he... likes me, but he... his job is... he needs to lie a lot and he's very good at deceiving people, so...”

“You're not sure he's being sincere?” her mother finishes for her.

“No,” she sighs, lifting her eyes to her mother's.

“But, Ruth darling,” she says gently, “if he's not worthy of your trust-”

“No, it's not that,” she hastens to add. “I _do_ trust him. I'd trust him with my life. He's very loyal and so... kind hearted, underneath all the bluster and bravado.”

“Then why don't you trust him to be honest with you about his intentions?” she asks.

“He... well, he has the reputation of being...” she hesitates, “a bit of a lady's man and I don't feel... I'm scared that he'll... move on and I... I'm in love with him. I'm scared he'll break my heart because he doesn't feel the same way.”

“It sounds like you're already seeing this man,” her mother replies after a moment's deliberation, waiting for her to confirm her suspicions with a nod before continuing, “and from what you say, he's a good person and your only concern is that he might not have deep feelings for you but, Darling, not everyone falls in love at first sight. It's the kind of thing that grows with time after you get to know someone. I was never in love with David, but with time, I grew to love him and I don't regret marrying him. Perhaps this man- What's his name?”

“Harry,” she whispers.

“Perhaps Harry will love you too with time,” she says. “It's no reason to hold back, just because he doesn't love you yet.”

“I know,” Ruth sighs, “but the thing is... he's actually my boss, and I'm scared that, if it doesn't work out, we won't be able to work together and I'll have to leave.”

“I see,” her mother nods with understanding. “That _does_ put a different spin on things... But isn't it a bit late to worry about that, Darling? You're already dating him, aren't you?”

“It... we,” she stammers, “we ended up... We were drunk.” She finishes, not wanting to explain anything about what really happened between them, then seeing her mother's shocked face, she adds, “It was stupid, I know, but he _did_ admit that he's been wanting to ask me out for some time now. We work well together and I think he didn't want to risk jeopardising that.”

“Which is a good sign, Ruth,” she says gently. “If he values your work and your working relationship, then that's a sign that he's after more than a short... interlude.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “I suppose that's true.”

“You're a lovely person, Ruth,” her mother smiles. “Any man would be lucky to have you and your love. Don't underestimate yourself and all you have to offer him. It doesn't sound as if _he_ does, so don't sell yourself short. If you love this man, Harry, then he must be a special person. You have a good head on your shoulders and you wouldn't bestow your love on someone unworthy of it. So I think, it really comes down to one thing, Ruth - is it worth the risk? How strong are your feelings and can you see yourself having a future with Harry? Is he more important to you than your job, which I know you love very much.”

“That depends on how he feels about me,” she sighs. “It's a wonderful job, Mum. I love it and I don't want to lose it.”

“Would you love it just as much if Harry wasn't part of it?” her mother asks rather astutely.

“No,” she admits, “but not just because of my feelings for him. It's because he's an excellent boss. He really cares about the work we do and our team is very close-knit as a result. It's not often you find that.”

“No, it's not,” she agrees.

“I'm scared to lose that,” Ruth sighs.

“Perhaps you already have, Ruth,” her mother replies, and at her frown explains, “It might already be impossible to go back to the way things were at work, but that needn't necessarily be a bad thing. All relationships change with time, and although change can be very frightening, it can lead to many good things, not just disasters. Perhaps this is a step towards something better for both of you.”

“You're right,” she nods, smiling at her mother. “I'm over-analysing everything.”

“It sounds to me as if you need to make a choice and then give it your very best,” her mother replies, reaching for her hand across the table and giving it a squeeze. “You're wonderfully determined when you put your mind to something, Ruth. Look how well you did at school and University and how far you've come in your career! But it's not only in your work that you can use that, Darling. In fact, if you love Harry as much as I think you do, then you probably owe it to yourself to give it your best shot, otherwise you'll always wonder and regret, and life's too short for that. If there's one thing I've learnt from losing your father, it's that.”

“Thanks, Mum,” she smiles, getting up and walking round the table to give her a hug. “I'm so glad I came to see you.”

“Me too, Darling,” her mother replies. “I _do_ hope everything works out for the best.”


	14. Chapter 14

It's late, past midnight, and she can't sleep, or rather, she can't go back to sleep. She's had a terrible nightmare and had woken tangled in the bedclothes, her pyjamas soaked with sweat, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath coming in pants. She'd been dreaming about him again, her assailant, only this time he'd succeeded in getting what he'd wanted from her, and as he'd pushed into her, his face had changed and suddenly he was Harry. The shock had woken her and she'd felt sick, dashing to the bathroom and reaching the toilet in the nick of time. She'd slid to the floor after that, curling up in a ball and sobbing in anguish as she'd fought to push the images away. And that's how David had found her, no doubt woken by the noise she'd made.

“Ruth?” he'd whispered her name softly from behind the door that hadn't quite closed when she'd pushed it to on entering, rapping his knuckles gently against it and pushing it slowly open when she'd failed to respond. Then seeing her distress, he'd stepped into the room, murmuring, “Jesus, Ruth! Are you all right? What's wrong?”

She hadn't been able to answer him, and it was only his quiet declaration that he'll get her mother that had made her force herself to speak, saying rather horsely, “No, don't. I don't want to worry her.”

“Ruth,” he'd frowned, dropping to one knee in front of her and reaching forward to gently stroke her upper arm, “you're not well. I have to get your mother.”

“It's just,” she'd stammered, making an effort to sit up and pull herself together. “I'm fine. It was only a nightmare.”

“A nightmare that made you physically sick?” he'd replied dubiously, his frown deepening. “What's really going on, Ruth? Are you...? Christ!” he'd exclaimed and stood up suddenly, opening the medicine cabinet above the sink and quickly scanning its contents as he'd added, “You didn't... take anything, did you?” His eyes had been almost wild as he'd turned back to look at her.

“No,” she'd shaken her head, puzzled by his reaction for a moment before she'd understood. “No, David,” she'd said more firmly. “I wouldn't do that. I didn't take anything, I promise. I'm not trying to... to...” she'd tailed off unable to finish the sentence, remembering Peter, her step-brother, how he'd ended his life and how it had almost broken her step-father. She'd stood up on shaky legs then, and without knowing quite who'd moved first, she'd found herself in his strong embrace. “It really _was_ just a nightmare,” she'd mumbled into his chest.

“You've had them before, haven't you?” he'd asked softly after a moment. “I've heard you sobbing in the night. There must be a reason for them, Ruth. Do you want to talk about it? I want to help. Tell me what to do to help you.”

She'd started to cry then and he'd held her for long moments until she'd quietened once more, murmuring reassuring words against her hair and firmly stroking her back. She couldn't remember the last time he'd held her like this and it had felt so good. He'd been a good step-father really, despite the fact that she'd harboured so much resentment for him initially. Then, when she'd been fourteen and home for the summer holidays, her mother had cut herself quite badly with the pruning shears and he'd been so wonderful, reassuring and steady, in control of the situation and able to deal with both his wife and step-daughter's panic quite brilliantly. That had been the first time she'd let him comfort her while her mother had been getting stitched up, and he'd been so loving and attentive towards her mother afterwards that, by the end of that summer, her resentment had simply dissolved. They hadn't grown particularly close, seeing as they were both somewhat shy, cautious, and reserved, but after that, she'd known she could trust him and rely on him if she ever needed help, and there had been a handful of times when she'd turned to him instead of her mother, who tended to worry a lot, and he'd never let her down.

“Sorry,” she'd murmured as she'd pulled back eventually, pulling out several pink tissues from the box by the sink and wiping her eyes and nose.

He'd smiled, murmuring, “How about I go make us a cup of tea while you get yourself sorted, eh?”

She'd nodded and watched him turn towards the door and slip out, closing it softly behind him. Then she'd flushed the loo and stripped before getting in the shower, and it had been only as she'd closed her eyes and felt the hot water stinging her face that she'd managed to recall that, in her dream, Harry's eyes had been soft and adoring, not harsh and predatory as that man'shad been, and she'd suddenly felt herself begin to calm at the realisation that, even in a nightmare, Harry would never hurt her. A deep yearning for him, to see those soft, hazel eyes looking at her like that again had sprung up inside her then, and she'd almost jumped out of the shower to ring him before she'd realised that it was late and he'd probably be sleeping. So she'd got out and dried herself slowly, crossing the landing to her room wrapped in her towel, locating and slipping on some clean pyjamas and her slippers, and going downstairs to the kitchen.

She'd sipped her sweet tea and munched on more shortbread biscuits gratefully for several minutes in silence before she'd asked, “Is Mum still asleep?”

“Yes,” he'd smiled. “You know her. Nothing short of an explosion would wake her.” She'd smiled at the joke and finished her biscuit, washing it down with another mouthful of tea before he'd coaxed gently, “Tell me what's happened, Ruth.”

So she'd began to tell David about it, not the full story, but a simplified version of it, making it sound as if the man had just happened to target her somewhere in London. He'd been a good listener and it had felt good to share her story in a safe place, in her own time, and in her own way with someone who cares for her, rather than for the benefit of MI-5 during a debriefing conducted in an interview room at Thames House just after her ordeal, regardless of how much she'd known that Adam and Fiona _do_ care and had been more than a little sympathetic and concerned for her.

“You've got PTSD, Ruth,” he'd said gently after a few moments of silence during which he'd been holding her hand tightly in his own. “You need to seek professional help with it.”

She'd nodded, knowing that what he'd said was true and yet dreading seeing the MI-5 psychologist she'd need to visit once she returned to work. Perhaps she should see someone outside work too, she'd thought as he'd gently pulled on her hand, coaxing her to lean into his embrace. “I'm so sorry this happened to you, Ruth,” he'd murmured against her hair as he'd stroked her back, making her feel safe and loved again.

“You won't tell, Mum, will you?” she'd asked. “I don't want her to worry.”

“I won't,” he'd reassured her. “Did you go to the police, Ruth?”

“I did,” she'd replied. “He's... in jail. Harry made sure of that.”

“Harry?” he'd asked.

“My...” she'd hesitated. “He's my boss, but... he's also my... boyfriend.”

“That's nice,” he'd smiled against her hair. “I'm happy for you, Ruth. I hope he... took it well. What happened, I mean. I hope he was supportive.”

She'd nodded and pulled back to look at him, saying, “He's been incredibly supportive.”

“That's good,” he'd replied, his blue eyes soft and kind.

Then they'd talked of other things while they'd finished their tea, but before they'd gone back upstairs to bed, he'd said earnestly, “Let me know if there's anything I can do to help, Ruth, anything at all. And let me know how you get on. I'll be...” he'd paused, smiled, and then added, “worried about you.”

She'd chuckled at that before reaching up to kiss his cheek in thanks as she'd promised to let him know. Then murmuring good night, they'd slipped back into their respective rooms and that's where she finds herself now, sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at her phone, debating with herself if it's too late to ring Harry; she _so_ wants to hear his voice.

Eventually, she can take it no more, so she texts, 'Hi. Are you awake?' remembering their previous exchange of messages with a small smile and hoping against hope that the answer is yes.

The reply is almost immediate. 'Hello, Ruth. How are you?'

'Fine. And you?' She types quickly, so relieved that he's not sleeping.

'Fine. Busy... And worried about you.' Her heart soars and she can't help smiling at those words. He's been thinking and worrying about her; he hasn't forgotten her.

'Don't worry. Mum and David are taking good care of me... I miss you.' She hesitates but then quickly presses send before she has time to reconsider and delete the last sentence.

There's a moment's delay this time before she gets his reply, but it's infinitely worth the extra wait and almost reduces her to tears. 'Me too. Ain't no mountain high enough, Ruth.' The song starts running through her head and she smiles as she realises what he's trying to say.

“Listen, baby! Ain't no mountain high,  
Ain't no valley low, ain't no river wide enough, baby.  
If you need me, call me, no matter where you are,  
No matter how far.”

So she dials his number.

“Hello, Ruth,” he murmurs, his voice husky and warm.

“Harry,” she breathes, fighting to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. She really mustn't keep breaking down in front of him. “It's so good to hear your voice.”

“It's always here, Ruth,” he replies, “just a phone-call away. You can ring me any time you like. I'll be here... for you.”

“I didn't want to wake you,” she says softly.

“Sleeping's overrated,” he murmurs, “and I'm way past any help that beauty sleep has to offer.” She laughs at that and suddenly wishes that she was with him and able to touch and hold him, to see his beautiful eyes and smile. “Why are you awake at this time, Ruth?” she hears him ask softly.

“I couldn't sleep,” she sighs. “I...” she hesitates, shaking her head to clear the images from her nightmare that have suddenly jumped to the forefront of her mind.

“Bad dreams?” he asks gently, startling and alarming her a little until she remembers that he's been through this type of experience too.

“Yes,” she breathes. “They're awful and tonight...” She stops herself just in time.

“Tonight?” he asks.

“It...” she hesitates, “it was much worse. But you don't want to hear about that. Why aren't _you_ sleeping? Are you still at the Grid? What's happened? Do you need me back at work?”

“No, Ruth,” he replies. “You take as much time as you need. We'll manage. Besides nothing terrible has happened and I am, in fact, at home... but I couldn't sleep either.”

“Bad dreams?” she asks softly.

“Partly, but that's nothing new,” he answers.

“You have them often?” she dares to ask, relishing the freedom that a telephone conversation offers because they can't see each other.

“Fairly regularly,” he murmurs. There's a pause and then he adds, “Most nights actually.”

“I'm sorry, Harry,” she whispers, wishing again that he were near and she could kiss him.

“I reckon it's a good thing,” he replies. “It proves that I still have a sliver of a conscience left and a not entirely blackened soul.”

“You have a beautiful soul, Harry,” she says softly, “and you're a wonderful man.” Her face heats up in embarrassment as she realises what she's just said, and she begins to chew on her lower lip nervously when he's silent for long moments.

“Thank you, Ruth,” he eventually replies, his voice sounding rather gruff, and she realises that he must have been really quite touched by her words just now. She wants to tell him how wonderful she thinks he is and how much she loves him, but she's scared he'll think her naïve and that her feelings aren't reciprocated, so she says no more. It seems he's at a loss as to what to say too, however, and there are several moments of silence during which all she can hear is his gentle breathing in her ear and the rapid beating of her own heart.

Eventually, she murmurs, “I'm coming home tomorrow. I'll catch a train after lunch.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes,” she replies. “I'll ring Adam in the morning to arrange my return to the Grid. I want to start right away.”

“Not tomorrow, Ruth,” he objects. “Take another day at least. Come back on Wednesday or Thursday.”

“And what am I supposed to deduce from that, Harry?” she teases lightly. “I take a few days off and already you've replaced me and no longer need me at work?”

“You know that's not true, Ruth,” he murmurs. “You're unique and irreplaceable. We're just worried about you.”

“We?” she frowns.

“Adam and I. The team in general,” he explains.

“I'm fine, Harry,” she replies. “Just a little... rattled, but I'll be fine soon. I... I can't wait to see you.”

“Me too, Ruth,” he murmurs, his voice deep and husky now. “I've missed you more than I can say.”

His words make her heart flutter in her chest, so grasping her courage with both hands, she whispers, “I thought you might... ring me... you know, while I've been away.”

“I wanted to, Ruth. I just didn't want to... intrude,” he replies carefully. “I assumed you left London to... give yourself some space. So I tried to respect that... You have no idea how hard it's been to do.”

“Thank you,” she nods though he can't see her, feeling her heart flood with relief. “I did need... a change of scene and I needed... well, I needed my mum.”

“I can understand that,” he replies and she can tell he's smiling.

“But that doesn't mean I wouldn't have liked to hear your voice, or even to just receive a text message or two,” she smiles. “I rather enjoy texts now.”

He chuckles softly and replies, “Duly noted, my Ruth.”

It's the first time he's called her 'his' and she can't help how her heart skips several beats and she wants to squeal in delight. She _is_ his after all - his and only his. She has been for some time now, and she has to bite her lip to stop herself from telling him that and so much more. “What are you wearing, Harry?” she asks instead. The silence that greets her words makes her realise what she's said and she feels herself flush as she cringes with embarrassment before she hastens to explain, “I didn't mean that like it sounded. I just wanted to know so I can picture you in my head. You know, in your suit and tie or the more casual clothes you wore the other night or, I don't know... pyjamas or... Oh bugger, I'm making this worse. I'll shut up now.” By this time, she can hear him quietly chuckling to himself and she can't help but smile in spite of her embarrassment.

“I am actually wearing very little at the moment, Ruth,” he replies and she can hear the amusement and teasing in his voice. “I was in bed, but I'd just come down to get a drink, seeing as I couldn't sleep, when you rung.”

“And now _I_ won't be able to sleep,” she mutters darkly, and this time, his laughter is deep and rich.

“I, on the other hand, will sleep like a baby,” he smiles into the phone.

“Don't be so sure about that,” she replies. “I'll be texting you every minute until I fall asleep.”

“Then I hope you dream of me when you do, Ruth,” he purrs.

She hesitates for a moment before replying softly, “As long as it's a nice dream this time.”

He's silent for long moments before he murmurs softly, “It will be, Ruth. I promise.”

“Harry, I know you're good,” she sighs in mild exasperation, “but you're not _that_ good. What makes you think that you can make and keep a promise like that?”

“Because you rung me,” he smiles. “And _that_ changes everything.”

“It does?” she frowns.

“Yes,” he smiles. “Now... sweet dreams, Ruth, and I'll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Harry. Sweet dreams,” she sighs.

“They will be,” he murmurs before he disconnects the call, leaving her staring at her phone for several moments and smiling softly as she recalls their conversation before she turns to place the phone on the bedside table. Then she climbs into bed and snuggles under the covers as she closes her eyes, the blissful smile never leaving her lips. Her final coherent thought before she falls into a deep, restful sleep is to wonder why the hell she hadn't called Harry every night before bed.


	15. Chapter 15

_Next day, London – Tuesday, 25th October_

 

She'd texted him to let him know what time she'd be home tonight, and she'd been delighted when he'd replied with a suggestion that he bring round some take-away for dinner at seven. She'd got home late due to a delay with the train and then just about every other public transport system she'd had to use in London, so she'd only had time for a quick phone call to her mum to let her know she'd arrived safely before she'd jumped in the shower and began getting ready.

She's still drying her hair when she hears the doorbell, so quickly abandoning the rest to dry and curl at will, she unplugs the hair-dryer, leaving it out to cool, and after a quick brush and a final look in the mirror, she dashes downstairs, calling out, “I'm coming,” as she goes.

The rapid beating of her heart has nothing to do with her quick decent down the stairs and everything to do with the man standing on the other side of her front door. Taking a deep breath in an effort to calm herself, she self-consciously pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and opens the door.

He's gorgeous. There's really no other word for it. How could she have forgotten how broad and tall, how beautiful and sexy, how strong and present he is, how keen and intense is his gaze, how soft are his lips and how his eyes make her whole body melt for him, she wonders briefly before she blinks and manages to pull herself together long enough to murmur, “Hello, Harry.”

“Hi,” he replies, his voice deep and warm, like dark chocolate, she thinks fleetingly before stepping aside to let him in.

“Come in,” she whispers.

“Thank you,” he replies and steps past her into the hall. Both his hands are full, one holding a plastic bag with their food which smells deliciously like curry and the other what looks like a bag containing several bottles of wine.

“Those look heavy,” she observes, nodding at the bags. “Why don't you take them through to the kitchen?”

“Okay,” he smiles and follows her advise as she turns to lock and bolt the door. She takes her time with it, trying to calm her nerves by giving herself an internal pep-talk and taking deep breaths, but the moment she hears him enter the hall again to hang his coat and she turns to face him, her heart rate has sky-rocketed once more and she's anything but calm again.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs as he takes a step closer, his coat now safely hanging next to hers.

“Thank you,” she smiles shyly, dropping her gaze to the floor as she smooths the simple, navy blue dress she's wearing with her palms.

“Ruth?” he asks softly, taking a step closer still.

“Yes?” she breathes, lifting her eyes slowly, taking in his large, black, leather shoes, the dark jeans, soft, grey, v-necked jumper, and light pink shirt he's wearing, his open collar and soft kissable lips, before her eyes finally meet his. Delectable is the only word that springs to mind.

“Would you mind if I kissed you?” he murmurs softly.

“Mind?” she whispers, tilting her head up and taking half a step towards him. “No, I don't think so, Harry.”

She sees him smile before he leans in, his right hand cupping her face, his thumb moving across her chin and brushing her lower lip as he murmurs, “You don't _think_ so? Ruth... sometimes you think entirely too much.” Then she feels his other hand slip behind her, pulling her against him as he leans in and captures her lips ever so gently with his. Her hands move to touch him, her palms gliding slowly up his sides, then his chest and, eventually, over his shoulders, delighting in the feel of him, so solid, so real and strong, and she can already feel her insides melting, churning, wanting. She slips her hands into his hair then, pulling him closer and opening her mouth below his, eager to taste him once more. His right hand is in her hair, cradling her head, his fingers rubbing and massaging, finding all the right spots that she never even knew existed and making her shiver. His other hand is still holding her close, running over the curve of her bottom and squeezing it gently from time to time in a rhythm that has her blood boiling within seconds. She can feel him swelling against her stomach, so she nudges her hips closer, grinding against him, matching the rhythm his hand is setting on her bum.

“Christ, Ruth,” he groans as he pulls out of the kiss, wrapping both arms around her, one hand on her hip and the other cradling her head against his shoulder. “You give yourself so completely.”

He sounds awed and very highly aroused, his voice gravelly and deep. “I trust you,” she explains simply because it's the truth. She'd thought of little else on the train ride back up to London, and she'd decided that she _needs_ to trust him... with everything, including her heart. And once she'd made that decision, it had been so remarkably easy to do so because she'd realised that she doesn't believe that he'd ever deliberately hurt her. She's not naïve enough to think that he won't do something that might wound her inadvertently. After all, he's seen a lot, lived through a lot, he's a man and has had many failed relationships over the years, as has she, and she knows that the scars they both carry from their personal history and the job run deep and might cause them to behave in ways that no one else can understand, her own tendency to run and hide being a perfect case in point. But her mother was right; she's made her choice because she loves him more deeply than she's ever loved a man before, and now, she needs to give it her best shot.

He pulls back to look at her, his gaze keen and intense as he searches hers for a moment before he whispers, “I don't know what to say, Ruth... You... astound me and I... I think you've bewitched me. I can't stop thinking about you. When there's no crisis at work, all I think about is you.”

“That's nice,” she smiles, “because I think about you all the time too. I'm sorry I ran away. I... I needed to think... A lot has happened and I wanted to make sure that we... that _I_ was making the right choices.”

“And are you?” he asks softly, his gaze slightly wary but full of hope.

“Yes,” she replies firmly. “Yes, I am.”

He smiles, holding her gaze for long moments as he lifts his hand to push a strand of her hair behind her ear and softly stroke her cheek. “I'm glad,” he murmurs and presses a gentle, chaste kiss against her lips. “Now let's eat. It's getting cold.”

“Okay,” she nods and moves to step away from him, but he gently grasps her hand in his and links their fingers together. She looks at their joined hands for a moment and then smiles up at him before leading him into the kitchen. They stand side by side at the kitchen counter, serving up the food and opening the wine, exchanging warm smiles and looks, and loving every minute of it.

They eat their meal in much the same manner. She tells him about her mother and David and all she did while in Exeter, and he fills her in on what's been going on at work. Then they do the washing up together and move to the sitting room with their glasses and the half-full, second bottle of wine.

“Do you want to watch something?” she asks as she steps into the room. “It's only half past eight.”

“Okay,” he agrees.

“The bottom shelf there has all my videos and DVDs,” she says, pointing to the bookshelf in the corner of the room. “Why don't you choose something? I don't care what we watch, and I'm sure if I pick something you'll tell me it's a chick-flick and turn your nose up at it.”

He smiles, placing the bottle of wine and his glass on the coffee table and moving over to the shelf she's indicated as he murmurs, “I haven't seen a film in so long, Ruth, that I'm sure I'll be happy to watch anything... Especially if I get to cuddle with you on the sofa while we watch.”

She smiles at that and turns to find him looking at her, his gaze warm and joyful. “Funnily enough, that's exactly what I was thinking,” she replies. He chuckles and turns back to the shelf as she puts down her wine glass, retrieves the remote controls, and turns everything on.

“Ruth, you appear to have all the Bond films here,” he comments a few seconds later, and when she turns to look at him, she finds him watching her with one eyebrow raised in question.

“What can I say?” she shrugs. “I must like English spies.”

“What? All of them?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye.

“No,” she smiles, “just the good looking ones.”

“Bugger,” he sighs. “There goes my chance.”

“Yes, well,” she grins, “you must be the exception that proves the rule.”

“Cheeky,” he frowns in mock offence, making her laugh.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she teases. “Were you fishing for a compliment there?”

“Of course not,” he replies quickly and turns back to scanning her video collection, but before she can do anything more than take a half step in his direction, he exclaims, “Those magnificent men in their flying machines?!! I can't believe you have this. I haven't seen it since I was a boy.”

“My dad and I used to watch it together,” she explains as he brings it over to her and she slips it from its cover, sliding the video into the player. “He bought a video player almost as soon as they first came out. He was a real geek, my father. Anyway, we used to rent this film quite often. I should get it on DVD now, I suppose,” she adds and looks up to find him smiling down at her. “Shall we?” she suggests.

He nods and turns to the sofa, taking a seat on the left hand side and draping his arm along the back of it in invitation while she starts the video. Then she takes a seat beside him, leaning into his side, tucking her legs up beside her and resting her head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around her. “This is so nice,” she sighs.

“Yes, it is,” he whispers and presses a kiss against her forehead before turning back to the TV as the film begins to play. She's seen this film so many times already that she knows it practically by heart and doesn't need to watch it. Instead, she surreptitiously watches Harry as he begins to chuckle almost from the moment it starts. He looks so happy and relaxed that it warms her heart and she drinks him in hungrily, unable to quite believe that he's really here with her. She's imagined this so many times and the reality of it is so wonderful that she finds herself unable to stop smiling or gazing at him in adoration.

“Ah, the lovely Patricia,” he murmurs after a bit, making her snort derisively. “What?” he asks, turning to look at her in surprise.

“I hate her,” she explains.

“ _Hate_ her?!” he replies, his eyebrows raised in astonishment. “Isn't that a rather... strong reaction?”

“Oh, come on, Harry,” she objects, sitting up as her eyes flash in annoyance. “She's spoilt, manipulative and selfish. Don't tell me you _like_ her?”

“Actually,” he smiles, “I was in love with her once.”

“In _love_ with her?” she says in utter astonishment.

“Yes,” he grins, “though I was only about eight at the time. Clearly I have a thing for beautiful, intelligent brunettes with gorgeous eyes.”

She blushes, dropping her gaze in embarrassment even as her heart lifts with hope that he might fall in love with her too one day. He chuckles and pulls her gently against him again, pressing his lips softly against her forehead before turning back to watch the film.

“God, it's amazing how sexist these old films are,” she sighs a little while later.

“We don't have to watch this, Ruth,” he murmurs in response.

“No,” she objects, “it's not that. I do _like_ this film. It just bothers me sometimes. Though to be fair, the whole point of it is to make fun of stereotypes.”

“Indeed,” he replies, pressing his lips against her forehead again. She quite loves these kisses, she decides, almost as much as she loves the passionate ones he gives on the lips. There's something so reassuring about them as they have nothing to do with lust and desire but, instead, are a mark of true affection.

She tilts her head slightly so she can see his face, and continues to watch him watch the film, mesmerised by how open and relaxed he is, how his face betrays his emotions, and how his quiet chuckles of amusement warm her heart. He hasn't appeared to have noticed her scrutiny, which surprises her somewhat and pleases her no end as she feels free to continue, watching him until about half way through the film when the “Intermission” card appears across the screen.

“Shall I skip this?” she asks quickly to hide the fact that she's been observing him so closely, “Or make some tea?”

“Tea would be nice,” he replies, “and I need a bathroom break.”

“Okay,” she smiles. “I'll get started on the tea.” So she takes the empty glasses and bottle to the kitchen and prepares the tea with Harry's help, once more delighting in the domesticity of the situation. Then she nips to the loo while he carries everything into the living room, and soon they're sitting on the settee again, sipping their tea as they watch the rest of the film.

“So who would you pick?” he asks as they near the end of it. “Richard or Orvil?”

“Neither,” she replies without hesitation. “I was never in love with either of them if that's what you're getting at.”

“Not good looking enough for you, eh?” he teases.

“No,” she smiles, then adds, “nor are they spies,” making him laugh. “But if I _had_ to choose between them... I don't know. I mean Richard won't take her flying because he gave his word, so that's a positive thing, and he's in uniform, and let's face it, all girls love a man in uniform.” She winks at him, making him laugh again. “But he can't be bothered to change his weekly schedule to get _married_?! And he's so pompous and has absolutely no clue how to treat a woman... Orvil, on the other hand, is weak, easily manipulated, which is not a good thing. Like you said the other day, you can't go against your principles for anyone. I mean, he almost gets kicked out of the race and loses everything to take her flying! Some people might think that's romantic, but in my book, it's just plain stupid. On the other hand, he seems to know how to make love to a woman, which is definitely a point in his favour. So, I guess, if you twisted my arm and forced me to choose one of them, I'd pick Richard.”

“I'd never do anything of the sort, Ruth,” he growls, leaning towards her. “I'd have to be mad to force you to pick another man over me.”

“Yes, you would,” she whispers breathlessly as he moves closer, his eyes dropping to her lips as he slides his hand along her cheek, gripping the back of her head and neck gently with his fingertips and pulling her towards him. His lips are soft and gentle as they brush against hers, pulling away again and coming back for more, repeating their motion over and over, his rhythm slow and seductive. Her hands are resting on his chest, gripping his soft jumper as she hums in pleasure and lets her eyes drift shut, getting lost in the sensation of his mouth on hers. “You have perfect lips,” she whispers between the third and fourth kiss, her voice sounding different, low and seductive, even to her ears. “I could spend all day kissing them,” she confesses between the fifth and sixth kiss as she slips her hands up over his shoulders and behind his neck, pulling him closer and deepening their kiss with a moan of pleasure. He groans as she sucks and licks his lips, becoming bolder by the second until soon they're engaged in a full on snog, their hands wondering freely over each other's clothes as he leans into her, pushing her into the cushions behind her.

“Ruth,” she hears him groan when they come up for air, but the rest of what he was going to say gets lost in their next kiss. Her knickers are soaked already and she can feel his arousal pressing against her thigh, but when she strokes him gently with her fingertips, he lifts his head abruptly, breaking the kiss even as a moan of pleasure escapes him. “Ruth,” he pants, his eyes dark with desire, “it's... late. I should... go home.”

“You could stay... if you want,” she replies softly, dropping her gaze to her hands as she sits up and smooths down her dress, not daring to look at him lest he read the confusion and hurt in her gaze.

She hears him exhale heavily, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees him lift his hands to rub his face. Then he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before he turns towards her again and murmurs her name. His left hand slips across to rest over hers that are clasped together now in her lap, his thumb caressing her skin softly as he whispers, “I want to, Ruth. I want to stay here with you, but I think it would be wiser for me to go home tonight.”

“Why?” she asks in puzzlement as she lifts her eyes to his.

“Because I feel that we're going about this all wrong,” he explains. “Circumstances pushed us into a... situation that was... that neither of us could control, and I think that... we should rectify that and... slow down. I want to get to know you, Ruth, and to show you who I am away from work. I want to spend many wonderful evenings like this close to you... both physically and emotionally close. I don't want to... rush into anything because this is too important to me to risk messing up.” He hesitates and speaks slowly, clearly taking care to find the right words to express himself, and she can tell that he's suddenly rather nervous, fearing her rejection perhaps, and it makes her realise that he was probably quite hurt by her sudden disappearance from London right after they'd got together and has possibly spent the last few days worrying that he's screwed everything up between them. It's the first time she's really thought about what message her actions must convey to him and she suddenly understands his need to be cautious now. Perhaps he's just as scared as she is to risk getting hurt.

“Okay, Harry,” she murmurs softly, unclasping her hands so she can slip them around his. “I've had a lovely time tonight.”

He smiles shyly and nods, saying, “Me too, Ruth. Perhaps we can do it again sometime this week?”

“That would be very nice,” she nods. They stare into each other's eyes for long moments until she drops her eyes to his lips for a second and whispers, “Can I have another kiss, Harry, before you go? I really love your lips.”

“Oh you love them now, do you?” he grins, leaning towards her.

“Mmm hmmm,” she hums. “I _adore_ them.”

“Well, the good news is,” he whispers against her lips, “that they adore kissing you too.”


	16. Chapter 16

_Three days later – Friday, 28th October_

 

It's been a busy last few days and it seems she hasn't had a moment free to eat and sleep, let alone see Harry, though they've managed somehow to talk almost every night on the phone and send each other texts throughout the day when they've had a free moment. It had been an animal welfare group that had caused the chaos this time and now that it's finally over, she feels like she could sleep for a week, preferably, in Harry's arms.

Her phone chirps, alerting her that she has a message, so she quickly fishes it out of her coat pocket and reads Harry's text – 'Where are you?'

'By the Thames,' she replies quickly, smiling softly to herself.

'On my way' is his speedy reply, making her smile more broadly and sigh in contentment as she turns her face up towards the sun and lets her eyes drift shut. Its rays are very weak now at the end of October, but it's still a welcome sight and she can't help feeling happy. This week seems to have passed by in irregular spurts, some hours flitting past in seconds and others seemingly taking aeons, but tonight, she _really_ hopes that she can finally spend some time with Harry.

Despite how busy the team has been this week with two on-going cases, plus the crisis with the animal welfare group, Adam and Harry had insisted that she keep every appointment with the MI-5 psychologist, Miranda Saunders, and though she'd been somewhat annoyed by this initially and inclined to stubbornly refuse, they hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd feared. She's clearly very intelligent, capable, and experienced in dealing with spooks, and she'd impressed her from their very first meeting by being upfront about the whole thing. “Ruth,” she'd said after they'd shook hands and taken their seats, “may I be honest with you?” She'd nodded and Miranda had continued, “I realise that you're here because you have to be, and I also realise that you're likely suffering from PTSD after what happened. I want to make it clear that my main concern here is your well being, but we both know that I need to report back to your superiors regularly on your progress. This makes our relationship far from ideal and I doubt very much that you will feel inclined to share more than you have to with me. I would, therefore, like to suggest, unofficially of course, that you make time to consult a colleague of mine who specialises in the treatment of PTSD. His name is Peter Olsen and he's an army medical officer. He's good and I often refer people to him.” She'd smiled and given Ruth his business card, adding, “I know you're probably thinking it'll be hard to talk about what happened to you with a man, Ruth, but please consider meeting him first before you make a decision about seeing him regularly or not. He really _is_ one of the best.”

So she'd met him and had been pleasantly surprised by how much she'd liked him, and she already feels like she's made some progress even after just two sessions, if only because she understands so much better what's going on in her head and why her brain is responding in this way. It's funny, he reminds her a little of Harry, though he's older and nowhere near as good-looking, but there's something about his manner that has convinced her that he's honourable and a gentleman, and has made her trust him. It helps of course that Harry had called in a few favours with some old army contacts to double check that he's worthy of her trust. Dear, sweet Harry, always doing his best to protect her.

“Hi,” he murmurs softly as he stops and leans against the wall beside her, his arm and shoulder making gentle contact with hers.

“Hello,” she smiles as she turns to look at him. “Do you need me back inside, or is this just a pleasant interlude in a busy day?”

“The latter,” he replies, his eyes darting over her face, drinking her in. “Definitely the latter. What are you doing tonight?”

“Seeing you, I hope,” she says, crossing her arms so she can surreptitiously caress his elbow with her fingertips.

He smiles and copies her motion, brushing the inside of her palm with his fingers and making her shiver. “Would you like to go out to eat?”

“I'd love to,” she murmurs, “but I think I might be too tired to really enjoy it. Do you mind coming round to mine again? I could cook or order something?”

“ _I'll_ order something and bring it round like last time,” he replies, linking their fingers together and turning to study her face. “You look exhausted, Ruth. Perhaps I should let you sleep.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Please come round, Harry. I've missed you... and besides, I sleep much better when you kiss me goodnight.”

He smiles and nods his agreement before asking, “Are you still having nightmares, Ruth?”

She sighs and looks away, unconsciously gripping his fingers tighter with her own. “Every night,” she confesses. “I think they're getting better though. They're not so... detailed or... disturbing.”

He squeezes her fingers in silent support, murmuring, “And you're remembering to tell yourself that it's not your fault?”

She smiles and nods, lifting her eyes to his. “I remember _you_ telling me that every time it gets too much,” she confesses softly.

“I wish I could hold you,” he whispers, his eyes full of tenderness and longing and... could it be love?

“Big issue, Sir?” a man's voice asks, and she can't help smiling at the look of annoyance that crosses Harry's face before he releases her hand and turns to face the unfortunate person who's interrupted them.

“No, thank you,” she hears him growl as she too turns towards the unknown man, but as her eyes fall on him, she freezes and she suddenly can't breathe, the rough beard, cold, grey eyes and short, brown hair so familiar, the stuff of her nightmares. She's hardly aware of lifting her hands protectively as she backs away from him, feeling the low wall behind her and sidling along it to her right, desperately trying to get as much distance between them as possible.

“No, please,” she begs softly as she moves away, covering her face with her hands, trying to hide away, to protect herself. She feels someone's hand on her forearm and wants to scream, but all she can manage is a quiet, “No.” The hand withdraws and after a few moments she hears a soft, gentle voice, a familiar voice, speaking to her.

“Ruth,” he murmurs, “Ruth, it's me. It's Harry. I'm not going to hurt you. Listen to my voice. You know my voice, Ruth. It's me. It's Harry. You're safe.” She stops moving and hears him add, “Look at me, Ruth. That's it. See? It's only me.” And as she raises frightened eyes to look, she sees his kind, gentle eyes and his warm smile and feels her heart flood with relief.

“Harry,” she whispers and launches herself forward into his embrace. He catches her and pulls her against his chest, encircling her with his arms and rubbing a comforting hand across her back, cradling her head against his shoulder.

“It's all right, Ruth,” he murmurs. “It wasn't him. He's dead. You're safe, Ruth. I won't let anything bad happen to you. I promise, you're safe.” She cuddles into his warmth without thinking, delighting in the feel of him against her, the reassuring strength of his bulk and the feeling of protection that envelops her. If only she could stay like this with him forever. After a few moments, she hears him say, “When I said I wished I could hold you, Ruth, I didn't mean for it to happen quite like this.”

She smiles and whispers, “Then you should be careful what you wish for, Harry.”

“Harry?” a familiar voice brings her back to herself and reality, and she quickly pulls out of Harry's arms. “What's happened?” The tone of Fiona's voice is full of concern which, once the first moment of panic subsides, makes Ruth realise that she's witnessed more than just their brief embrace. This thought makes her initial panic return with a vengeance as she worries about how long Fiona has been watching them, how much she's seen and gleaned from their behaviour. It doesn't last long, however, when she realises that even Fiona wouldn't dare interrupt Harry embracing her if she thought there was anything going on between them other than one colleague helping out another. No one would if they valued their position in the Security Services.

“Flashback,” Harry replies simply, releasing her and turning to face Fiona. “Would you walk with Ruth back to Thames House, Fiona? I need to get to Whitehall.”

“Yes, of course,” Fiona replies, her eyes moving from Harry to her.

“I'm fine,” Ruth volunteers immediately, dropping her gaze in embarrassment. “Really. I don't need minding. It was just... He looked...” She tails off, shuddering at the recollection. “Sorry,” she murmurs, and lifts her gaze to find both Harry and Fiona looking at her with concern. “I'm fine,” she reiterates more firmly.

“Good,” Harry replies, his eyes and face unreadable once more.

“Thank you, Harry,” she murmurs, doing her best to hide her true feelings for him by imagining that it had been Tom who'd just held her and protected her and behaving as she would towards him.

“Think nothing of it,” he replies, and with a nod, turns away, pulling out his phone as he walks briskly away from them towards Whitehall.

He's so good at masking his true thoughts and feelings, she thinks fleetingly before she turns to Fiona and gives her a small smile and then sighs, “This is awful. I'm not nearly as... fragile as everyone's going to think when this gets out.”

“It won't. I won't tell anyone and neither, I'm sure, will Harry. And besides, it's all right to be a little fragile after what's happened, Ruth,” Fiona shrugs as they turn together towards Thames House. “It's been less than ten days after all.”

“I know, but I still feel... stupid and like such a... wimp,” she confesses quietly.

“Well, you're neither of those things, Ruth. You just need time,” Fiona replies with a warm smile that surprises her a little - not the smile per se, but the reassurance and comfort she's offering her. Fiona's always been friendly and warm, but she's also remained a little aloof until now, engaging only in conversations about work, or all kinds of fun and teasing on the Grid. Of course since Danny's death, she's been quite different, more withdrawn and serious than before and more prone to worry, especially about Adam and Wes.

They're silent for a few moments while they cross the road and then she adds, “Not many people know this, but after I left Syria, even knowing that Farook was dead, I kept seeing his face in the street and there were moments when I would just freeze completely in terror.”

“How did you make it stop?” she asks, desperately hoping for some trick, a quick solution to her problem.

“I didn't,” she answers. “It happened on its own. Once the nightmares abated and I started sleeping better, it was easier and less frequent. Adam was a great help. We helped each other. He had the nightmares too... If you need anything, Ruth, just let us know. You're not alone.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, feeling touched. “That means a lot.”

“Have you tried taking something to help you sleep?” she asks gently.

“No,” she shakes her head. “I picked up the prescription, but I haven't actually taken it yet.”

“Try it tonight,” she encourages gently. “It'll do you good to get some proper rest. You look exhausted.”

“That's what Harry said,” she sighs without thinking, then realising what she's said, she adds quickly, “He stopped to chat when he saw me on his way to Whitehall and he said I looked exhausted and should go home early tonight.” She knows she's babbling and that she should stop before she arouses Fiona's suspicions, but it's easier said then done; she's always had the tendency to share too much when she's nervous. However, the last thing she needs right now is for everyone to begin speculating and gossiping about her relationship with their boss. She doesn't think she could cope with it on top of everything else. “Thank goodness, he was there,” she whispers, and is relieved to see nothing to alarm her when she looks into Fiona's eyes.

“What happened?” Fiona asks, her curiosity clearly piqued.

“The homeless man,” she murmurs, “he looked so much like him. I panicked and froze. It was awful, like I was back there, only I wasn't prepared for it this time and it was almost even worse then when it happened. I didn't fall to pieces then.”

“I'm sorry, Ruth,” Fiona says gently. “Still, it was lucky it was Harry who was with you. He would have figured out what was going on much faster than anyone else. He would have seen the resemblance between the men.”

She nods mutely, but luckily they've reached Thames House by now, so they say nothing more as they walk inside and back onto the Grid.


	17. Chapter 17

_Following evening – Saturday, 29th October_

 

In the end, Harry doesn't make it to her place that night as his JIC meeting runs late, and it's only the following evening that they finally manage to get together.

“You're getting very good at this texting thing, Harry,” she smiles as she opens the front door to let him in, feeling thrilled that he's made it tonight and that work hasn't spoilt their plans again. “You didn't even bother with the doorbell! Whoever said that you can't teach an old dog new tricks clearly hasn't met you.”

“Old?” he queries with one eyebrow raised.

“Well, no. I... I didn't mean _old_ ,” she stammers, dropping her eyes in embarrassment for a moment as she inwardly curses her tendency to say things without thinking when she's either excited or nervous, and tonight, she's definitely a bit of both. “It's just a figure of speech.”

“Humph,” he grunts, his eyebrows falling to frown at her and his lips forming an adorable pout as he moves past her into the kitchen and sets the plastic bags he's holding on the counter, and she can't help smiling at his offended look as she follows him into the room. Once his hands are free, however, he spins round to face her, taking long, quick strides towards her, his gaze so dark and intense that she takes a couple of steps back in mild alarm until she can't move any further because of the wall behind her.

“Harry?” she whispers uncertainly.

“I'll show you old,” he growls and kisses her, his lips pressing firmly against hers while his right hand slips behind her neck to cradle her head and his left one grasps her hip as he pushes his body firmly against hers, trapping her between him and the wall behind her. She grips his sides with both hands to steady herself, but before she's even recovered from her surprise, he's pulled back, his brow furrowed in worry as he takes a couple of steps back, raising his palms towards her and stammering, “God, I'm sorry, Ruth. I didn't think. Don't be alarmed, sweetheart. Please. I'd never hurt you. I promise, I'd never hurt you.”

She swallows and then clears her throat before she can speak, the memory of his body pressing firmly, deliciously against hers causing hers to respond very rapidly with desire. “I wasn't,” she replies, focusing on his worried gaze as she pushes aside the distracting sensation of her belly churning with want and tries to stop her mind from gleefully dwelling on the endearment he's just used, clearly without realising it. “I'm not alarmed, Harry. I know you'd never hurt me. I trust you.”

He exhales heavily and runs his hands down his face before he lets them drop to his sides. “Good,” he nods and she watches the relief spread across his face as he smiles softly. “I needed to make sure. I'm sorry. I... forgot... for a moment.”

“That's good,” she smiles. “I don't want to be treated like I'm made of china all the time.”

“Not china,” he replies as he steps closer once more, his thumb rising to caress her cheek. “Far more precious and beautiful than that.” He kisses her again, a soft, tender kiss on her lips and another on her forehead as he pulls her gently into his embrace.

She leans into him, all but sighing in contentment, but as the seconds tick past, she feels her desire for more than this build steadily inside her until she's compelled to speak. “Harry?” she whispers against his chest, wanting him all over again and trying to pluck up the courage to broach the subject.

“Yes?” he replies, tilting his body back to look at her.

But her courage deserts her at the last moment and she chickens out, unable to risk another rejection from him, however gently it is made. This is still so very new, and though she's decided that she needs to trust him and to give them a chance, she knows she's not strong enough to hear him say no again – not now, not this early on in the evening at any rate. Perhaps later when she's had enough wine, she thinks fleetingly before murmuring softly, “Could we eat? Only I'm starved and it smells wonderful.”

He searches her gaze for a moment and she's sure he doesn't believe that that's what she was going to say, but he smiles and nods, pulling away from her and turning towards the table, taking off his jacket and draping it on the back of a chair before he moves over to the counter where he's set the bags containing their take-away. She helps him serve their food, delighted to see that he already remembers where everything's kept and feeling her heart warm at the domesticity of sharing a meal with him like this again. It's one of her favourite things about dating Harry – he seems so at home and confident in her space though they've only been together for less than a fortnight. She wonders why that is as she watches him opening the containers with their food, wondering if it's just an art he's perfected in his years as a spook – the ability to just blend into his surroundings – or if it's something else, perhaps because he's so confident and comfortable in his own skin. He knows himself, knows who he is, what are his strengths and weaknesses, what he is capable of and, in her opinion, it's one of the most alluring things about him.

“What is that brilliant mind of yours thinking now, Ruth?” he murmurs softly as he turns his head to look at her, making her blush at being caught staring.

“Nothing,” she replies quickly, turning to look at the food he's brought. “Mmm, yum!” she adds in a bid to change the subject. “How did you know I love Thai food?”

“Nice try, Ruth,” he grins. “I very much doubt that your mind _ever_ thinks about nothing, and besides... you were studying me rather closely just now and I want to know what's captured your attention. What were you thinking about me? Is it really so bad that you can't share it?”

“No,” she shakes her head as she picks up one of the serving spoons and begins piling food on her plate. “It wasn't bad. I was just thinking how... attractive you are because you're...so confident and comfortable with yourself, with who you are and... I was wondering what you can possibly see in me. I mean, I'm not confident or particularly pretty. I'm easily scared and, well... I'm boring really.”

“Oh Ruth,” he sighs, “you talk such nonsense at times. You? Boring?” She's finished serving herself, so she moves over to the table, setting her plate down and turning to the fridge to get the salad she'd made earlier, happy to have an excuse to hide her face from him as he speaks. He doesn't speak, however; he's silent, and when eventually her curiosity gets the better of her and she lifts her eyes to his, she finds him watching her with a small smile on his lips.

“What?” she frowns.

“Nothing,” he smiles, his eyes twinkling at her. “Just you.” She blushes and looks away at that, taking the salad over to the table, but as she turns back for the dressing she's forgotten in her agitation, he blocks her path back to the fridge, lifting her face with his fingertips under her chin and forcing her to look into his eyes. “You are the most interesting and intriguing woman I have ever met, Ruth. You have a brilliant mind, a generous heart, gorgeous, expressive eyes, and when you smile, you light up my world. You make me want to strive to be a better man and to be the one who brings that smile to your lips each and every day.” She blushes and smiles at that; she can't help it. “See? You're breathtaking when you smile,” he murmurs softly, leaning forwards to press his lips against hers.

She kisses him back passionately, her fingers sliding into his hair and pulling him closer, his words making her feel confident and bold all of a sudden. He groans and she feels his arms wrap tightly around her, anchoring her to him as their kiss deepens, so that soon she's lost all sense of time and place. They stumble a little, moving together across her kitchen, desperately seeking something, anything solid to ground them because they need that, lost as they are in each other. They bump into the wall by the fridge, brushing a couple of magnets off it as they pass, both of them too caught up in each other to notice, let alone stop to pick them up. She pushes him against it, grinding her hips across his, her hands running down his chest as her lips leave his and take a journey across his jaw to his ear, her teeth gently tugging on his earlobe, her lips wrapping around it and sucking, her ears feasting on his moans of pleasure. “Oh God, Ruth!” he gasps as her hands find their way inside his trousers, fingers stroking him through cotton underwear while her tongue darts into his ear canal, delighting in the tangy taste she finds there. “Christ,” he groans when she cups him in her hand, his own hand gripping her left breast tighter in response, his thumb rubbing her hardened nipple. “Wait,” he begs as her hand begins to squeeze his cock rhythmically, delighted by how rigid, thick, and hot he is even through his trunks. “Please, stop.”

And just as quickly as the feeling of boldness had come, it drains away to be replaced by insecurity and fear that she's done something wrong. “Sorry,” she whispers, pulling her hands away from his body as she attempts to move away from him, but his arms are strong and they quickly wrap around her, trapping her against him as he takes deep breaths to steady himself.

“You've nothing to be sorry for,” he murmurs in a voice that's still deep with arousal. “That was... incredible. So good, in fact, that I almost creamed my pants. I can't...” He tails off when his voice cracks and he clears his throat, straightening his body and standing tall as he takes a deep breath and lets it out in a shaky stream of air. “God, Ruth,” he sighs, his arms tightening briefly around her. “You're amazing.” He buries his face in her neck, his arms still holding her close as she slips her own around his waist and links her fingers together, her emotions in turmoil.

She wants to run, to escape to the bathroom or her bedroom upstairs, but she's scared he won't let her go, and she feels so close to the edge, to losing it and breaking down in tears of hurt, frustration, and confusion that she knows she doesn't have the strength to fight him to get away. So she stays put in the hope of hiding her struggle from him and bring herself back from the brink of emotional breakdown where she's teetering yet again. She can't afford to cry in his arms again, she thinks determinedly, blinking the tears that gather away, telling herself to be strong, and miraculously this time, she manages to calm herself and begin to analyse his behaviour instead of losing it completely.

He clearly wants her, so why is he holding back like this? He can't possibly think that this is good for them, for their relationship, to keep taking a step forward followed by one back, never really getting anywhere, can he? She really doesn't want sex to become an issue for them, not when they already have so many obstacles to overcome to make this work – the cross over between their working and personal lives, the complication of him being her boss, the limited amount of time they actually have to spend with each other, the trauma of what's happened to both of them because of the job, not to mention the difference in their age and their natural reticence and reluctance to open up and trust another. They're good at sex together, really very good, so why is he acting like this? She mulls it over for a while, her head resting against him, and as she listens to his heart beating steadily in his chest, she suddenly has the answer – control. He needs to be in control; he's scared to lose control of her, of himself, of their relationship, and sex is the one place where she can making him lose it completely. That's how this whole thing got started between them in the first place.

She smiles in relief and unlinks her hands, running them smoothly over his back in affection. She's just going to have to show him that losing control with her sometimes is good and healthy. He can't always have things his own way, or they'll never survive as a couple, especially as he's her boss. The dynamic at home has to be different or she'll lose herself, her independence that she values so highly. She'll show him, she thinks, but not tonight; she's too tired tonight. Next week, she decides. It's his birthday on Tuesday, she remembers with a smile; that would be the perfect time.

Having made her decision and feeling much better now that she understands what's going on, she pulls back a little and smiles up at him, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek before murmuring, “We'd best eat, Harry, or it'll be stone cold.”

He nods, looking rather relieved that she seems calm and happy, and releases her, watching her move to the table and pick up her plate, taking it over to the microwave. “Best warm it up a bit,” she smiles over her shoulder at him before proceeding to warm their food through, heating first one plate and then the other while he picks up the magnets they've dislodged and sticks them back on the fridge before retrieving the salad dressing at her request and carrying it to the table. Then as she's closing the microwave door, having already handed him the two plates, she hears him say, “I think you'll find you're in my spot.”

She turns in surprise and puzzlement to find him looking at Fidget who's curled up on a kitchen chair, watching Harry with his big, green eyes. “Actually,” she smiles, “he's probably thinking the exact same thing. It's usually _his_ spot, you see.”

“Well,” Harry frowns, “not any more, it's not.” Then he moves to the table and sets down their plates before gently pushing the cat off the chair and taking a seat. Fidget is _not_ impressed by this at all and he lets out an annoyed hiss before disappearing from the room.

“Well, that wasn't a very nice way to deal with the poor cat, Harry,” she objects with a frown.

“He needs to know that there's a new male hierarchy in this house, Ruth,” he replies seriously, “and that I am the new top dog... cat...” he frowns, then waves an impatient hand, correcting himself again, “Alpha male.”

She can't help smiling at that justification as she sits across from him, but as she pours them each a glass of wine, she sighs, “The first day he comes anywhere near you and you shoo him away. I don't know, Harry. Doesn't seem like you actually want him to like you.”

“He'll get over it,” he shrugs and takes a bite of his food, humming in appreciation before he adds, “Trust me, Ruth. I know what I'm doing. He'll be back in a few minutes. His pride's hurt, that's all. He's only gone off to lick his wounds. You have to be firm with them.” He gives her a warm smile and then adds, “You'll see when you meet Scarlet.”

“I can't wait,” she smiles and digs into her own food, suddenly realising that she really _is_ starving now.

Fidget doesn't join them again in the kitchen, but once they've moved to the living room and are cuddled up together on the settee with some gentle music in the background tonight and a glass of wine each, he appears in the doorway, meowing forlornly. “Oh Fidget,” she smiles in exasperated affection, “come here, you silly cat. Come say hello to Harry. He's really very nice.” He turns his head to look at Harry then as if he's understood every word, making her laugh, and with a little more encouragement and coaxing, he eventually _does_ pad over to her and she picks him up, placing her glass on the coffee table and the cat in her lap. “There you go,” she coos softly as she strokes his soft, grey fur. “He's not so bad, is he?” Harry's right arm is wrapped around her shoulders again, but he reaches to put his glass down with his left and brings it forward, allowing it to hover just under the cat's nose for a moment so the animal can smell him before he starts to scratch his head, making him close his eyes in pleasure and begin to purr rather loudly. She laughs again, saying, “I can see you have a way with animals, Harry.”

“I like animals,” he confesses softly, continuing to stroke the cat. “They're so much easier than people. Straight-forward and direct. They don't play chess. They either like you or they don't, and they let you know pretty quickly either way.”

She smiles, turning her face to kiss his jaw and cuddling closer to him, nestling her head under his chin as she feels his right hand squeeze her shoulder. “But you prefer dogs to cats?” she asks moments later in an effort to keep herself awake, his warmth, the steady beating of his heart, and the gentle rising and falling of his chest beginning to lull her to sleep.

“I do,” he replies. “They're loyal, affectionate, and they protect their people.”

“Just like you,” she murmurs sleepily, feeling her eyes droop and finally close with fatigue. She can't see his face, but she thinks she feels him smile, and in the morning, this is the last memory she has of that night. When she wakes up alone, at past noon the following day, snuggled up in her bed, in the blouse, bra and knickers she wore the night before, she has no recollection of how she got into bed, and though she feels a little groggy and disoriented for a few moments, she realises that, for the first time in a fortnight, she feels properly rested, she feels human again. 


	18. Chapter 18

_Three days later – Tuesday, 1st November_

 

“Go on,” she cajoles gently, “tell me. What on earth did I do? Surely it can't be _that_ bad.” She's beginning to worry now, starting to believe that she might have done something rather embarrassing.

He smiles mischievously, lifting his glass of White Burgundy and taking a long, slow sip, attempting to hide his satisfied smirk behind the glass for long moments and looking like he's enjoying her discomfort a little _too_ much. Eventually he relents and lowers his glass, murmuring, “Actually, you were really quite... adorable.” He smiles softly as he swirls the liquid in his glass, clearly lost in the memory for a moment before he raises his eyes to hers and explains, “You fell asleep so quickly, Ruth. One moment you were talking to me and the next – boom – you were out for the count. I tried to wake you, but you weren't having any of it. You must have been exhausted. So eventually I had to... carry you up to bed.”

“You carried me upstairs?!” she exclaims in astonishment a little louder than she intends, unable to believe that Harry could manage that. He might be quite wonderful in almost every way, in her opinion, but he's already middle aged and not really in the best shape of his life, and she's really quite heavy for someone her size. “Sorry,” she winces, looking around quickly, but luckily nobody seems to have heard her thanks to her forward planning and request for the most private table in the restaurant.

“That's quite all right,” he smiles, taking another sip of his drink. They've finished the main course, which was really rather splendid, and are taking their time over the rest of the wine, savouring each other's company on this, their first proper date.

“Harry,” she warns when he remains silent for long moments.

He grins, clearly enjoying toying with her like this, keeping her on tenterhooks. “Well,” he says, “I made it as far as the stairs, but then, on reflection, I decided not to risk attempting those, so I tried to wake you again. I _did_ manage to rouse you enough to get you to stand but, as you were still half asleep, you managed to negotiate only four or five steps with my help before giving up, at which point, you just... draped yourself across a few and went back to sleep.”

“Oh God,” she groans, hiding her face in her hands. “I thought you said this wasn't embarrassing.”

He laughs softly and murmurs, “I never said that. I said you were adorable. I don't think I'll ever forget the look of... utter bliss on your face as you just lay down and went back to sleep, clearly having decided that there were far too many steps left.” He chuckles to himself and lifts his glass to take another sip of wine.

“So how did I get to bed then?” she asks after a few moments, curious enough to risk further embarrassment. His eyes twinkle at her and she can tell that he knew she wouldn't be able to resist asking for more information. Insufferable man! He knows her too well by far.

“I had to carry you,” he murmurs eventually, having almost exhausted her patience. “You wouldn't budge and I could hardly leave you in the middle of the stairs. Apart from anything else, you could have fallen down them in the night. So I managed to rouse you enough to get you to stand up long enough for me to get you in the fireman's lift and up the stairs and into bed.” He drops his gaze for a moment before looking at her apologetically. “Not the most gentlemanly way to treat a lady, but I couldn't manage it any other way. I couldn't risk my knee, or lower back for that matter, giving way on the way up and causing us both to end up in a heap at the bottom with a broken neck apiece.”

She smiles when she sees him drop his gaze to his hand where his index finger is busy tracing patterns around the base of his glass. He's embarrassed, she realises, embarrassed and ashamed that he wasn't strong enough, man enough, to manage to carry her to her bed in his arms, and she finds it utterly charming. In anyone else, his behaviour would seem too macho and somewhat ridiculous, but in Harry, it just warms her heart. “I'm impressed that you could lift me at all, Harry,” she reassures him gently. “I weigh almost 10 stone! Carrying that much weight up the stairs is no mean feat, especially when you've got a dodgy knee.” He lifts his eyes to look at her and smiles, his ego clearly soothed by her words. “So what did you do with me once you had me in bed? I seem to recall missing some articles of clothing when I woke up. Couldn't resist the temptation?” she adds with a cheeky smile, happy for the opportunity to turn the tables on him and embarrass _him_ a little.

“Actually, you're entirely responsible for that, Ruth,” he grins, making her blush again. Insufferable man, she thinks again in annoyance as he continues, “While I was busy turning down the bed, you were, apparently, awake enough now to have other plans. When next I looked up, you'd already managed to remove your skirt and were busy trying to undo the buttons of your blouse, so naturally, I said goodnight and attempted to leave... And that's when you pulled me onto the bed and began to... continue from where you'd left off in the kitchen earlier.”

“Oh God,” she groans again, burying her face in her hands. “I'm so sorry, Harry.”

“Don't be,” he chuckles. “It was rather enjoyable if a little unexpected... But you were exhausted and in need of sleep, so I... convinced you that I needed to use the bathroom, and when I returned, you were fast asleep... as I'd hoped you would be.”

She's silent for long moments as she too takes a sip of her wine, hoping to wash away the feelings of embarrassment that are still staining her cheeks red. “But why don't I remember any of this, Harry?” she frowns eventually.

“Ah,” he murmurs, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “As I was leaving to go home, you... screamed. It was...” he tails off and looks away for a moment, clearly trying to hide how much the memory of her pain upsets him, and it makes her heart melt to see how much he cares. “You were having a nightmare and I... I knew you needed rest and that you wouldn't get it without help. So I located your prescription in the bathroom and I... gave you a sleeping pill.” He lifts his eyes to hers and gives her a deeply apologetic look as he adds, “I'm sorry, Ruth. I know I should have discussed it with you first, but you needed rest so badly and you were in no fit state to discuss anything that night. I made a judgement call... and I hope it was the right one.”

“It's...” she hesitates, thrown by this new revelation, but knowing that he'd meant well and that she might have made the same choice in his position. “It's fine, Harry. I... I'd thought about taking a pill myself, especially after talking to Fiona, but I was scared to do it on my own in case I had a bad reaction to it. I've never taken one before, you see.”

“I made sure you didn't, Ruth,” he reassures her quickly. “I spent the night making sure of that.”

“You slept in my bed?!” she exclaims in surprise, somehow managing to keep her voice down this time.

“Well, I...” he stammers, “I didn't plan to, but I was worried about you and so I sat with you, intending to leave after a bit, only I fell asleep and woke up beside you the following morning.” She frowns at him in anger trying to mask the pain that grips her heart, but he misinterprets the look and drops his gaze with a mumbled apology.

“Well, you _should_ be sorry, Harry,” she declares angrily. “Do you realise that that's the _third_ _time_ you've woken up beside me and I have yet to experience that pleasure?”

“What?” he asks, lifting his eyes to hers in surprise.

“Every time we've shared a bed, you've woken up first and _left!_ ” she blurts out, no longer able to hide the hurt and frustration. Then feeling the emotions begin to get the better of her, she excuses herself and makes her way swiftly to the bathroom, not wanting to break down in front of him again or make a scene in such an elegant and busy restaurant. She tries valiantly to blink back the tears, but it's a losing battle and eventually she has to allow a few of them to fall to release the tension.

Typical bloody man, she fumes as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose before reaching into her handbag and beginning to reapply her make-up. It probably didn't even occur to him that she'd be upset about it, she thinks in frustration, beginning to feel her anger towards him dissipate at the realisation that he hadn't meant to hurt her. He'd most likely thought he was being kind and considerate, letting her sleep in a little longer instead of waking her only to say goodbye before going off to work. It's not as if he could have stayed with her any of those mornings. In fact, now she really thinks about it, she probably wouldn't have wanted to wake him either if their positions had been reversed. So as she eventually makes her way back to their table several minutes later, she finds herself feeling a surge of affection and love for him, especially when she sees how low and dejected he looks, toying with the stem of his wine glass and looking worried and forlorn.

He looks up as she takes a seat and smiles at him, reaching her hand across the table and letting it rest there, palm up, in invitation. “I'm sorry, Ruth,” he murmurs earnestly as he covers her hand with his. “I didn't think about that. I just wanted to let you rest. I know what it's like to be utterly exhausted like that, to not be able to get a decent night's sleep because of the constant nightmares. It's debilitating and I don't want that for you.”

“I know, Harry,” she smiles. “I overreacted. I know you were being kind and thoughtful by letting me sleep. I just wanted, I _want_ to experience the pleasure of waking up beside you. I feel... I don't know. I feel frustrated that you don't... want that, that you're keeping us... physically apart.”

“But I've explained,” he murmurs earnestly, frowning in worry. “I think it's best for us to take things slowly so that we can get to know each other well before we... become intimate again. This is just the fourth evening we've spent together, Ruth, and I know that, if I'd done this properly and asked you out first, I wouldn't have expected to... share your bed... not for a while yet.”

She's surprised by his admission and wonders if he's being entirely honest as, in her experience, men want sex pretty much from the very first date. But when she searches his gaze carefully, he looks open and honest, and just a little bit uncomfortable at his admission. She wonders what _she_ would have wanted if they'd done things differently and this had been their fourth date. Would she have invited him home for sex at the end of it? She can't be sure, she realises after a moment's deliberation.

She hasn't had a lot of relationships over the years, but that's mainly because men haven't really shown an interest in her and she's been too shy to just pick a guy she likes and flirt with him or ask him out. Plus it's not easy to find someone who's her intellectual equal, or at any rate, not intimidated by her brains, and at the same time, bold enough to take charge of their courtship. Most of them are as shy as she is when it comes to dating, so the relationship is doomed never to even begin. But once she's found a bloke she likes and they seem to get along, she's never felt the need to wait for months before having sex. Usually by the fourth or fifth date, things are clear enough for her. So on the one hand, she's sure she would have wanted Harry to sleep with her very much by their fourth date, but on the other, he's her boss and that would have complicated things – it _does_ complicate _everything_.

“Harry,” she sighs as she gathers her thoughts. She hadn't planned to talk about this with him, but rather to just attempt to seduce him tonight after convincing him to take her back to his place to meet his dog. She has to admit though that she's rather nervous about doing that as she's never tried it before, so perhaps it's better this way. “We've known each other for two years already and we work together very well, often in extremely stressful circumstances. I think we _do_ know each other well, well enough, at any rate, to take this step. I mean it's not as if we haven't done it before and it was... quite wonderful,” she blushes at her admission, “and I would very much like it if we could... well, you know. Unless...” she tails off in embarrassment as the unpleasant thought occurs to her, pulling her hand from under his and lifting her glass of wine to take a sip, feeling her stomach clench with worry and fear. What if he doesn't enjoy it with her? She thinks he does, and he _said_ he did, but-

“Unless what, Ruth?” he asks, leaning across the table towards her, a frown creasing his brow.

She takes another sip of her wine and swallows, unable to meet his gaze as she whispers, “Unless it's not... good... for you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ruth!” he growls in frustration and anger, causing her eyes to lift sharply to his in alarm. “How can you say that?!” he demands in a hoarse whisper, clearly trying to keep his voice down despite his anger. “I can't stop thinking about you, about making love to you. I can't function properly at work for wanting you. How can you possibly believe that it's not _good_ for me? Our first time... it was the best I've ever had, Ruth. I can't sleep because of how _much_ I want you.” His gaze is piercing, his eyes blazing in anger and frustration, and she can't help feeling relieved and something akin to triumph in having caused him to lose control like this. As kind, sweet and supportive as he's been these last two weeks, she's found herself wishing him to be less careful around her, more spontaneous, more himself. She knows he's a passionate, explosive and intense man by nature, and though she adores his softer, gentler side and the fact that she brings it out in him, she can't help missing and wishing to experience the passion too, more often than she's had the chance.

“Then why, Harry?” she asks, her stomach clenching for an entirely different reason now.

“I can't... I want... so much _more_ than that, Ruth,” he whispers, his eyes gentler now, almost pleading with her.

“Me too, Harry,” she smiles in relief. She drops her gaze, realising that now's her chance to explain and needing a moment to arrange her thoughts before she begins. “But I think... we've so much to contend with, Harry, mainly because of work, that it seems like it's making things more difficult, for me at least, to deny us something we both want so much.” She blushes as she admits how much she wants him too, glancing up at him but quickly dropping her gaze again at the intensity of his. “So, I thought,” she continues softly after clearing her throat while she absently watches her hands toy with her napkin, “if you'd like to, we could... go back to yours tonight. I still haven't seen your home and I'd like to meet Scarlet, and if we end up... making love, that would be... lovely, and if not, that would be fine too. And then in the morning, I'd get my wish to wake up beside you.” She pauses, taking a deep breath to steady herself before looking up at his face and adding, “I just think it's time we stopped worrying about it so much and just... went with the flow. What do you think?”

“God help me, but I think,” he murmurs huskily, his gaze still dark and intense, “that I can't resist you any longer, Miss Ruth Evershed.”

“And that scares you a little, doesn't it?” she dares to whisper, gazing at him with understanding.

“You have no idea how much,” he sighs, lifting his hand to rub his face, and she feels her heart flood with relief and love for him, for the trust he's showing her by admitting such a thing. 


	19. Chapter 19

“What are you looking so grumpy about?” she asks as they walk towards his car, her hand resting in the crook of his elbow.

“You should have let me pay, Ruth,” he grumbles, his lips forming an adorable pout as he frowns down at her.

“Harry,” she smiles, “it's your birthday and I invited you out for a meal to celebrate. It's my treat.”

“But you already gave me a present,” he objects, still looking a little cross.

“Did I?” she asks, enjoying teasing him a little.

“Yes,” he nods, “or are you telling me that the four bottles of thirteen-year-old malt I found hidden in the top drawer of my desk with the letters R-U-T-H on them were from someone else?”

“They could be,” she agrees. “They might stand for something. R-U-T-H. Let me see... How about 'you are humbly truthful'?” He frowns and pouts harder, so she shakes her head, saying, “You're right – unlikely. 'You are horribly timid?' - no. 'Hopelessly taciturn?' - not really. How about, 'Tragically hairless?'”

“Ruth!” he objects crossly, coming to a standstill and turning to face her as she too stops walking.

“What?” she grins, enjoying herself far too much to stop now. “No, wait!” she exclaims. “I have it. It's 'you are torturingly handsome' or maybe just 'too hot'. Yes, too hot sounds just about right. You're definitely too hot to be allowed.”

“Is that so?” he growls, taking a step closer to her, his eyes intense and hungry.

“Yes,” she whispers breathlessly. “Scorching, in fact.”

“Then this should scar you for life,” he retorts and kisses her passionately and very thoroughly, leaving her dazed and trembling with need when he eventually pulls back.

“Wow,” she whispers, pulling him to her for another kiss. He obliges most willingly and soon they find themselves snogging their hearts out against the side wall of a shop just inside the alley he's somehow managed to skilfully manoeuvre them into, and it's only the sound of laughter coming from across the street that brings them back to reality and an awareness of their surroundings.

“God, Ruth,” he breathes as he pulls back, his hand closing around her wrist and tugging her hand away from his groin. “You're going to get us arrested.”

“No one can see us here,” she objects, trying to pull him back for another kiss. She's feeling bold and so very turned on that she could shag him right here, right now, against this very wall.

“It's not worth the risk,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against her cheek before pulling back completely. “I'm head of section, Ruth, not some low-level agent. Can you imagine the fall out if the head of counter-terrorism was arrested for public indecency?”

She sighs, beginning to see sense and not liking it at all. “You're right,” she nods, moving away from the wall and smoothing down her dress as they take the few steps needed to get back into the street. “It's not worth the risk,” she sighs, lifting her eyes to his.

“No,” he agrees, moving closer again and leaning forward, his left hand finding her waist as he whispers in her ear, “and besides, it'll be so much more comfortable and enjoyable in my bed... not to mention my enormous bathtub.”

“Mmmm,” she hums, resting her right hand on his chest and smiling up at him as he pulls back smirking, “I'd forgotten about your bath.”

“I can't stop thinking about what I'd do to you if I had you in it, Ruth,” he confesses lowly, his gaze blazing with desire. “Every time I enter my bathroom, all I see is you in Fred's bath. You have no idea how much I wanted you then, how hard it was not to succumb to my... _need_ for you despite how tired I was from swimming-”

“And drowning,” she interjects, dropping her gaze and shuddering at the recollection. “I dream about it all the time, you know,” she confesses quietly. “You were so cold and still and eerily pale in the light from the storm. I thought you were... gone and I felt...” She swallows and feels tears spring to her eyes at the memory.

“I'm fine, Ruth,” he murmurs, pulling her into his arms. “Look.” He lifts her face towards his and smiles down at her. “See? I'm warm and alive,” he adds, cupping her cheek. She nods and smiles at him, feeling her heart lighten as the pain and fear relinquish their grip on it and she relaxes against him, wrapping her arms around him and feeling his lips press against her forehead. It's getting faster, she realises with relief, her ability to shed the panic, the pain, and the fear after a nightmare or flashback. Perhaps she can beat this thing after all, she thinks, for the first time feeling her heart flood with real hope and relief.

She stands wrapped in his arms for a few moments appreciating his warmth and support, but then she feels him stiffen and hears him murmur, “Come on, Ruth. Let's get us home.”

“Why? What's wrong?” she asks, pulling back to look at his face. He's no longer smiling, instead looking serious and focused like he does on the Grid, but when she turns to follow his gaze, she sees nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to alarm her or him. The street seems to be quite empty aside from the line of parked cars, the group of young people who'd been walking along the pavement, laughing, on the other side of the road when they'd emerged from the alley having turning onto the main road now. Perhaps he's remembered something too, she thinks as she allows him to take her hand in his and begins to walk beside him towards his car, feeling the excitement at the prospect of what is to come tonight flooding her body. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The present of four bottles of whisky is mentioned in Harry's Diary.


	20. Chapter 20

“Hello, Scarlet,” she coos softly as she crouches down to fuss over the very excited dog who's tail is wagging nineteen to the dozen. “I'm so pleased to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you.” Scarlet barks and dashes out the hall and into the kitchen, and she can hear her racing to the end of the room before turning back, skidding to a halt in front of Harry and jumping up against his leg.

“Hello, you silly pup,” he smiles, reaching down to scratch her ears. “You're going to make Ruth think you're quite mad, acting like this.” Scarlet barks again and dashes out of the room, and Ruth can't help laughing at her excitement. “We don't get a lot of visitors I'm afraid,” he explains as he takes her coat from her hands and hangs it up. “She's not normally this excited.”

“I think she's adorable,” she smiles as she turns to look at Harry, but before she can do or say anything more, Scarlet is back, jumping up at her leg. “Aren't you?” she asks the happy dog as she bends over to stroke her. She looks like she's laughing now with her tongue hanging out of her mouth while she pants, clearly feeling hot after racing around the house. “You're absolutely adorable and I love you already,” she adds as Scarlet rolls onto her back, looking up at her expectantly, her eyes dancing with joy. She crouches down to scratch her tummy, smiling in delight at the affectionate creature.

“Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?” Harry asks, moving past them towards the kitchen.

“Tea, please,” she replies before returning to fussing over the dog. She'd forgotten how much she likes dogs, she realises. She used to have one as a child, but he'd died quite suddenly shortly after she'd gone away to school. She'd been absolutely devastated at the time, feeling like everything she loved was being taken away from her, and she'd never quite managed to shake that feeling, so she's never owned a dog since then. Not that she doesn't love Fidget, of course; she does. It's just that it had been easier to get a cat when she'd thought to get a pet, more practical with the hours she works and less emotionally charged for her, so that's what she'd done. But she still loves dogs, she realises now as she watches Scarlet suddenly scramble to her feet and dart into the kitchen. Would Fidget get on with her, she finds herself wondering as she follows the dog into the room, but she quickly checks herself, sternly telling herself off for letting her thoughts run away with her again. She's been with Harry less than a fortnight. It's too soon to be wondering if their pets will get along. They're nowhere near the point in their relationship when they might consider living together.

She finds Harry standing by the counter, opening a new box of tea, and as she moves closer, ready to offer her help, she realises that it's a box of Lady Grey tea – her favourite.

“You don't like Lady Grey,” she states in surprise, watching as he throws away the plastic covering and opens the box.

“I know,” he replies, getting a teabag out and placing it in a pale blue mug. “Which is why I'm having English Breakfast,” he adds, lifting the kettle and filling their mugs. He turns to look at her then and smiles. “I bought them for you,” he confesses quietly, and for some reason, this simple gesture on his part almost moves her to tears.

She drops her gaze and swallows the lump in her throat before she looks back up at him and sighs, “God, Harry. How did you get to be so wonderful?”

He shrugs, his ears turning pink at the compliment, and turns back to making the tea, pouring milk and adding sugar to their mugs while she watches him fondly, the sounds of Scarlet lapping up her water filling the room. “Biscuits?” he asks when the tea's ready.

“No, thank you,” she shakes her head. “I'm still stuffed from dinner.”

So he picks up their mugs, and nodding towards the door, he murmurs, “Shall we?”

She smiles and lets him lead the way through to the living room, retrieving two coasters for him at his request, placing them on the coffee table and watching as he puts down their mugs before she asks for directions to the bathroom.

When she returns, he's sitting on the settee with Scarlet by his side, soft music playing in the background as he fusses over the dog. They make quite a picture together, man and dog, she thinks as she watches them unobserved for a moment. He's so affectionate with her, so unlike the man he is at work, and Scarlet basks in it, returning his love ten times over as she gazes at him with adoring, puppy eyes and licks any part of him he lets her reach. And she finds herself wishing that he would be as open with her as he is with the dog and as willing to let her show him how much she cares. Hopefully he will one day, she tells herself as she steps into the room and walks over to join them.

He looks up at her and smiles, grabbing the dog's collar and saying, “Come on, Scarlet. Time to get down,” as he pushes her gently off the sofa.

“Oh no, don't,” she object, feeling sorry for her when she whines as she sits on the floor by Harry's feet giving him a puzzled, hurt look. “Surely we all fit, don't we?”

He looks up at her in surprise before giving her such a warm, loving look and smile, that she wonders if it had been a test of some kind, getting rid of the dog to see what she would do. She watches him scoot over to the middle of the settee so she can take a seat on his right while Scarlet jumps back onto the sofa with a delighted bark. She sits down and turns towards him, watching as he tries to calm his overexcited dog, who is now attempting to climb onto his lap to reach her. “Knock it off, Scarlet,” he objects crossly, trying to push the dog back out of his lap and getting quite a few doggy kisses on his face in reward for his efforts. She laughs at the sight of the great Harry Pearce being defeated by a dog and reaches forward to help him, stroking Scarlet's head and cooing to her softly until she calms, settling herself across Harry's lap in contentment. “Perhaps _you_ should sit in the middle,” he murmurs, and when she lifts her eyes to his face, she finds him watching her.

“Not jealous are you?” she teases lightly.

“Well, I can't fault her taste,” he replies, making her blush. She looks down at the dog who is contentedly lying with her head resting on Harry's right thigh, Harry's left hand stroking her back rhythmically, but his voice draws her eyes back to his. “Ruth,” he murmurs huskily, his eyes honeyed and tender. He lifts his right hand to cup her face, stroking her cheekbone a few times with his thumb before he draws her slowly towards him until their lips meet. His kiss is soft and gentle, almost making her sigh in bliss. “Thank you,” he murmurs as he pulls back. “It's been a most memorable day... The best birthday I've had in years.”

She smiles, pleased to hear him say that, and replies, “You're most welcome, Harry.” Then she hands him his tea and takes a sip of her own as they sit in companionable silence for some time while they both stroke Scarlet who's in doggy heaven right now, her eyes almost closed in bliss.

“I was worried you wouldn't take to each other,” he comments after a little while. “I wasn't sure if you like dogs.”

“I do,” she replies. “I used to have one... as a child. His name was Argos, but unlike his namesake, he died while I was away... at school.” She pauses as she gazes down at Scarlet, feeling a twinge at the memory of coming home at half-term to find him gone. Her mother hadn't even told her about it, thinking it best to keep it from her until she got home after everything that had happened that year. She watches Harry lift his left hand from Scarlet's back and slide it over her own, squeezing it gently for a moment, so she raises her eyes to his, smiling in gratitude as she draws comfort from his touch and the compassion in his gaze; he really is wonderful, she thinks as she clears her throat and continues, “Anyway, there didn't seem like there was much point in getting another puppy as I was away so much. I haven't really had the space for a dog since... nor the time really. But I have Fidget,” she smiles.

“I don't really have as much time for her as she needs,” he confesses, dropping his gaze to Scarlet as he resumes stroking her back. “I pay someone to walk her and keep her company for a little while each day, which is better than nothing, I suppose.” He pauses for a moment and then adds, “But I don't know what I'd do without her. It's nice to have someone to welcome me home at the end of the day... especially after a particularly hard one as mine often are.”

She nods in understanding and murmurs, “Fidget always wraps himself around my ankles when I get home, and even if it's just because he wants his food, it's comforting to know that some living creature cares if I make it home or not at the end of the day.”

“He's not the only one, Ruth,” he whispers, and when she lifts her eyes to his, her breath catches in her throat at the tenderness in his gaze. He lifts his left hand from Scarlet to cup her cheek, his eyes darting all over her face as he takes her in, and she feels butterflies begin to frantically dance around her stomach as she watches him. There's something different about the way he's looking at her, and she's sure he's working up the courage to say something important, something that'll change everything, and she's filled with equal parts excitement and alarm at the prospect. “Ruth, I...” he begins and pauses, his eyes capturing hers again, and she finds herself holding her breath in nervous anticipation.

But it's at that moment that Scarlet lifts her head from his knee, yawns and then sneezes loudly, breaking the spell and the moment between them. She laughs, her body's way of releasing the tension and the adrenaline that's pumping through her bloodstream. “Bless you,” she says, dropping her eyes to Scarlet and scratching her ears as Harry's hand drops away from her face.

“It's late,” he murmurs. “Time for bed, Scarlet. Up you get.” Then he dislodges the dog from his lap and gets up, asking, “Are you done with that?” as he nods at her mug.

“Yes, thank you,” she replies, letting him take it from her hand and watching him leave the room closely followed by his dog. She doesn't go with them, needing a moment to herself and suspecting that he needs one too. Instead, she turns her body and gathers her knees beside her on the settee, hugging a cushion to her, leaning her left shoulder and head on the back of the sofa, and closing her eyes while she replays the scene that has just unfolded between them in her head. Had he been just about to tell her that he loves her, she wonders, feeling her already elevated heart-rate sky-rocket at the thought and the butterflies in her belly begin fluttering anew, or has she completely misinterpreted his signals? Perhaps he'd been gearing up to tell her something else. He'd seemed nervous, as if he'd been about to impart something hugely important to her, but that doesn't necessarily mean it was what she thinks it was, what she _hopes_ it was in spite of the little twinge of fear she feels at the prospect of being loved by a man such as Harry. She knows this because, just a moment ago, close on the heels of the relief she'd felt when Scarlet had interrupted, she'd been assaulted by an intense feeling of disappointment. She wants him to love her as much as she loves him; who wouldn't? But she's running away with herself again, she realises suddenly, sternly telling herself off. It might have been something completely different, perhaps that she couldn't, after all, share his bed tonight. This thought abruptly fills her stomach with lead and makes her feel queasy all of a sudden. Could it possibly be that, she wonders, hugging the cushion harder against her.

“Ruth,” she hears his gentle voice murmuring her name. “Are you asleep, my Ruth?” She feels the sofa dip as he sits beside her and she opens her eyes to find him watching her tenderly again.

“No,” she replies. “I was... thinking.”

“I'd be worried if you weren't,” he smiles, reaching his left hand up to push a strand of her hair back behind her ear. “Are you... Would you like to... go home or stay here with me, tonight?” he asks softly.

“Stay,” she murmurs, the knots in her stomach loosening a little. “If you want me to,” she adds uncertainly.

“I'd like that,” he smiles.

She nods and gives him a small smile in return before taking the hand he holds out to her.

“Come on,” he whispers as he rises from the sofa, his hand still holding hers as she too proceeds to unfold herself and get up. Then he leads her to the hall, taking a detour past his sound system to switch it off and pausing to turn out the light in the living room before turning to go upstairs.

“I need my bag,” she says softly, her stomach beginning to do somersaults at the thought of what's to come tonight.

“Of course,” he nods, releasing her hand and watching her move towards the front door to retrieve it before returning to his side. “Got everything you need now?” he asks, his voice low and his gaze warm and gentle.

She shakes her head and then reaches out to take his hand in hers again before she whispers, “Now I have.”

He smiles broadly at that, squeezing her hand and lifting it to his lips to press a soft kiss against the back of it, his eyes never leaving hers as she watches the emotions flit through them, though she's only able to recognise the last with any certainty as his gaze becomes intense and piercing, brimming with desire. “Ruth,” he whispers, his voice husky and low, “I want you. I _need_ to make love to you. Now. I can't wait any more.”

She swallows, feeling her insides clench in need, before she's able to reply. “Me too, Harry,” she murmurs, her mouth suddenly dry, “but not here. I'd rather... in your bed.”

He smiles and nods before turning and marching upstairs with purpose, his hand still firmly clasping hers. 


	21. Chapter 21

He's let her use the bathroom first, and as she slips inside it and closes the door behind her, turning to look around, she almost gapes in astonishment at the size of it, for not only does it have an enormous bath tub, but also a separate shower cubicle. She gazes around the room for several moments in amazement, taking in the soft blues, greens, and greys of the décor and thinking that whoever was paid to decorate it did a marvellous job, before she checks herself, opening up her bag to extract her toothbrush, hairbrush, and other things she needs, including the nightdress she's brought to wear tonight. Then she strips and steps into the shower.

It takes her much longer to get ready than she anticipates, at least twice the amount of time she normally takes at home, but when she exits the bathroom, she's feeling deliciously relaxed and renewed thanks to Harry's incredible shower that seems to have got rid of all the tension, and aches and pains from the day.

“ _That_ is the best shower I have ever had,” she sighs as she slips back into his bedroom.

He's looking out the window, but he turns at the sound of her voice and smiles at her, saying, “One of my vices, I'm afraid. I enjoy a bit of luxury and indulge myself more frequently than I probably should.”

“I can see that,” she smiles, remembering the luxurious interior of his car, the plush, reclining armchair in his living room and enormous bathtub next door, not to mention the huge, comfy looking bed that dominates this room, which she's valiantly trying not to look at right now. He does love a bit of luxury, her Harry, she thinks fondly, watching him cross the room towards her as she adds, “but _this_ particular one I heartily approve of. I'm sure it was worth every penny.”

He's removed his jumper, shirt, shoes and socks and is only clad in a vest and trousers, and she can feel her insides begin to melt with want at the sight of him. He looks... divine, his attire emphasising the broadness of his shoulders, the strength of his arms, and the sheer animal magnetism and sexiness he exudes.

“It certainly was,” he murmurs, his voice husky now with desire. “You look... God, Ruth.” He stops a few feet from her, his eyes raking over her body hungrily, and she's pleased that she'd decided to bring her most alluring nightdress for tonight, the sheer, pale-blue, silk one. She watches his face, self-consciously hugging her bag and clothes to her chest and probably completely ruining the effect of her sexy sleepwear, but she can't seem to help herself; he's so... large and male, and so _present_ in this moment that she feels she needs a barrier between them, something to hide behind until she finds the courage to act, or he does. She can clearly see him struggling to control his desire for her, fighting to keep himself in check, and soon, the lust in his eyes in combination with his physical presence has her own passion and anticipation rising steadily higher until she's struggling to keep her breathing even. But just as she's about to throw caution to the wind and reach out to touch him, he abruptly growls, “Don't go anywhere,” before wrenching his gaze from her and striding purposefully towards the bathroom.

Once the door has closed behind him, she exhales heavily, taking a few deep breaths before she turns to look around the room to calm and distract herself. The king-size, luxurious bed is its main feature with the rest of the furnishings being sparse, simple, practical, masculine, no-frills nonsense. She walks over to the chair along the opposite wall, near the window, under which she'd neatly tucked her shoes when they'd come upstairs, and places her things on it, taking out the clothes she's brought for tomorrow and laying them carefully across it so that any creases, hopefully, iron themselves out during the night. Then she puts the clothes she wore today in her bag, taking care to avoid creasing her dress as much as possible. Once all this is done very carefully, taking an inordinate amount of time over it in the hope of distracting herself for as long as possible, she can still hear the shower running in the bathroom. She glances at the bed, noting that he's already turned down the covers to reveal crisp, cream coloured sheets and debating with herself whether to slide into it before he returns, weighing up the pros and cons of waiting for him in bed or not. In the end, she decides against it, preferring to take a couple of steps across to the window and gaze out into Harry's back garden in the hope of finding something to distract her while she waits.

The room is quite warm despite the November chill in the air outside, so she's not uncomfortable as she stands, gazing out into the dark. The night is overcast but not heavily so, so she can discern the general layout of the garden, the path winding down it, the apple tree at the end of it, the swing to its left, and the raised flowerbeds in the centre. It's not a large garden, but it's large enough to be a pleasure to sit out in, in good weather. She briefly indulges her fantasies by imagining sitting beside Harry on the swing in the heat of summer, his powerful legs swaying them gently to and fro, each of them reading a book, his arm around her shoulders as she leans into his side, her legs tucked up beside her, Scarlet and Fidget resting in the shade of the tree... a toddler, a little boy of about two with a head of blonde curls, soft, pouty lips, and dancing, hazel eyes, sitting beside the dog, his arms wrapped around her neck... “Stop it, Ruth,” she sternly murmurs out loud to herself, wrenching her gaze from the garden and lifting it up to the sky, and that's when she realises that everything is still; the shower has stopped running.

She spins round abruptly and finds him taking slow, silent steps towards her, his eyes never leaving her. Bloody spook, she thinks fleetingly, how long has he been watching? But the sight of him dressed in nothing but a chocolate coloured towel wrapped around his waist soon chases all thought out of her head.

“You look stunning, Ruth,” he murmurs as he moves closer still, taking the final few steps to cover the distance left between them, and reaching up to cup her cheek as he whispers, “You take my breath away.”

Her mind has turned to mush again, his proximity rendering her inarticulate, so all she manages to do is whisper his name. “Harry.”

He kisses her then, pressing soft, pliable lips against hers, again and again, while his hands caress her skin, his right still cradling her head, his fingers massaging the nape of her neck and his thumb gliding along her jaw, while his left hand rests against her side, softly running up and down her body over her silk nightie.

It takes her a moment to realise that she can touch him too, so caught up is she in the sensations, but when she does, she eagerly lifts her hands to his lower back, feeling his warm skin and strong muscles below the surface as she presses more firmly against him, running her hands up and down his back from the edge of the towel as high as she can reach, to his broad shoulders and the back of his neck. He moans and deepens the kiss, pulling her against him as she parts her lips in welcome. They kiss over and over again, longer and deeper until they have to break apart to catch their breath, both of them breathing hard. Her lips are tingling deliciously and they feel swollen as she lifts her eyes to his. They're dark, full of desire, but there's also something else there, the same something she'd seen in them earlier, downstairs, but it's much clearer now, a fierceness and a tenderness, a look of love. He doesn't speak, but his eyes... his eyes in that moment are magic and she feels her own admission of love rise up in her throat, ready to spill from her lips, but before they can form the words, her hands have slid down his back again and accidentally dislodged his towel, causing it to fall to the floor. His eyebrows lift in surprise and then he smirks as her hands move of their own accord to cover his buttocks and she squeezes them experimentally, pulling him against her and almost groaning at the feel of his hardened length pressing into her stomach. He gasps and then murmurs her name before they plunge into another deep, passionate kiss. She runs her hands over his back again, his bum, scraping her nails across his skin and making him moan into her mouth, his hand tightening its grip on her head and pulling her closer still, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth in a primal rhythm that has her blood boiling in seconds.

His left hand begins to gather the material of her long nightie, his fingers brushing against the back of her thigh in the process, teasing her as the passion surges through her, and as he succeeds and his hand closes over her right butt-cheek, squeezing her flesh repeatedly, she moans into his mouth, grinding her hips against him. This is bliss, she thinks fleetingly, feeling more alive than ever before.

“Ruth,” he pants as they come up for air, “we need to... slow down.”

“Why?” he asks, pulling back to look at his face, genuinely surprised for a second, so lost is she in their passion.

“Because I won't... last long if we continue like this,” he confesses quietly, looking a little embarrassed.

“So what?” she murmurs, lifting her right hand to trail her fingertips down his neck and then his chest, making him close his eyes and shiver at the sensation, her passion making her bold and forthright. “I'm enjoying myself. Aren't you?”

“Yes,” he breathes, “but-”

“Then that's all that matters,” she interrupts, leaning forward to lick his right nipple and making him groan and take a step back from her, breathing heavily. She smiles as she watches him struggle with his need for control, her own innate shyness and usual lack of self-confidence when it comes to sex having deserted her in the face of the obviously devastating effect she's having on him. She watches him take a seat on the bed facing her and the window, his hands on his knees as he takes deep rugged breaths to steady himself, but she only gives him a moment before she moves to stand in front of him, running her fingers gently through his hair.

“God, Ruth,” he groans, reaching for her and pressing his face against her stomach as his hands pull her to stand between his knees. She strokes his hair and runs her hands across his shoulders and down his back before moving them up again, massaging his ears and neck. He hums in pleasure, remaining still and enjoying her caresses for long moments before he begins to plant kisses against her stomach while his hands run up and down her back, over her bum and the back of her thighs a few times, making her sigh in delight. He gathers the material of her nightdress once more, pulling it up, over her bottom, his hands caressing her thighs and buttocks. “No knickers,” he groans. “Are you trying to kill me, Ruth?”

“Far from it,” she smiles. “I thought I might surprise you... and besides, I usually sleep without them when I wear a nightie.”

He exhales heavily and moves his hands round to her stomach, mumbling, “Always wear a nightdress, Ruth.”

“Always?” she manages to reply, closing her eyes at the feel of his hands running over her skin. “Even on the Grid?”

“Especially there,” he growls before his lips find their way under her nightdress too, his tongue running sensually over her skin from her navel down to her pubic bone, then round to her left hip and down to her inner thighs, making her legs tremble as she clings to his shoulders for support, her breath coming in gasps and pants. “Then I can do this to you every minute of every hour of every day,” he murmurs against her skin.

She's about to make some comment about the others finding out about them if he does that, when the thought's chased right out of her head by the feel of his fingers caressing her folds, dipping inside her slick passage, slowly, repeatedly, in a delicious rhythm that has her insides melting and the energy building in her core, coiling tighter and tighter inside her. “Oh God, Harry,” she moans.

Her legs have almost given out from under her when she begins to push his shoulders down, forcing him backwards onto the bed as she leans over him to capture his lips with hers, kissing him passionately, slipping her tongue in and out of his mouth in the same rhythm he had set moments ago with his fingers inside her. His hands are pulling her nightdress higher now, over her waist and her ribcage to her shoulders, but they stop here as they move round to cup her breasts, squeeze them and pinch her nipples, making her moan and press her heat against his shaft, gliding along it and causing them both to groan, his hips twitching under hers.

Then she sits up and pulls her nightdress off, gazing down at him as he lies below her, taking in his lust-filled eyes, his kiss swollen, sensual lips, his broad shoulders and chest which carry so many scars, marks of his brave service to his country. She's never felt this confident before, brave enough to just stare at her lover's body without feeling embarrassed or self-conscious, but tonight she feels strong, powerful and in control somehow. “You're beautiful,” she murmurs, running her hands down his chest and she feels him twitch beneath her.

“Hardly,” he replies huskily, “but I'm glad you like what you see.”

“I do,” she smiles, leaning over him and planting kisses across his chest and shoulders, dipping her tongue into the hollow of his throat and licking each one of his nipples in turn, delighting in his deep groans of approval.

She moves lower, stepping off the bed as she leans over him, kissing his stomach that is delightfully smooth and soft, moving lower still to plant kisses all the way down to his pubic hair, her cheek brushing against his hardened length as she goes, but as she lifts her head to admire his cock, running a fingertip all the way up his considerable length to its glistening tip, he abruptly sits up, his hands wrapping around her upper arms and pulling her up as he gasps, “Wait!”

She lifts her eyes to his as she watches him breathing heavily, fighting to remain in control. “Harry,” she murmurs quietly, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek, “let go. Stop trying to keep control of everything all the time. It doesn't matter how long this last or if you come first. Even if we stop right now, I'll still be happy and satisfied.” She watches him search her gaze carefully, knowing he doesn't quite believe her, so she adds, “I mean it. Being with you, like this, is enough for me. And besides,” she smiles mischievously, “the clouds have parted... so this is my chance to ravish you in the moonlight.” He smiles then and lifts his hand to her face, cupping her cheek and looking at her tenderly as he pulls her towards him and their lips meet. And she can feel it now as he kisses her, can feel the passion surge through him as he lets go of his self-control.

Their hands are everywhere, caressing, groping, squeezing, pinching as he pulls her into his lap, rocking her against his cock, her clit rubbing deliciously against him as he lifts his right hand from her bottom and slaps her flesh, sending a surge of desire straight through her. “Oh yes,” she gasps, pitching her weight forward so that he falls backwards onto the bed.

Instantly, he rolls her underneath him, sliding her further onto the bed as with a quietly mumbled, “I'm sorry, Ruth. I can't wait,” he reaches a hand between them to guide himself to her entrance and plunges deep inside her. A groan of deep pleasure escapes them both, and she feels her heart swell with love for him. He feels so good inside her, so right, that she never wants this to end. Her legs wrap around his hips and her arms around his back, her hands gripping his shoulders as his lips find hers, hungry and insistent, his tongue plunging into her mouth again and again, matching the rhythm of his thrusts into her core, his strokes swift and deep, propelling them both quickly towards their peak. Soon they break apart for air, panting as they gaze at each other, his eyes burning pools of liquid fire. I love you, she thinks as she stares into his passion-filled eyes, the words reverberating inside her head, getting louder and louder until they're ready to spill from her lips.

“Ruth,” he gasps, his own eyes brimming with emotion, but the sensations are almost overpowering now and she can't keep her eyes open any longer as the energy inside her builds, and all she can manage to do is whisper his name in return. “That's it,” she hears him pant, his voice hoarse and strained from holding back. “Come, my darling.” He presses his face into her neck, planting kisses against her skin, and she can hear him groan loudly in her ear each time he plunges into her now, his movements becoming frantic and erratic as he nears his peak.

“Harry,” she gasps, her hands skidding across his sweat-dampened back, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails scraping his skin as his teeth grasp the flesh of her shoulder near her neck and he bites down, sending her straight to the edge of oblivion. “Oh God, yes!” she calls out, teetering on the precipice for a moment until he rams himself into her hard and stills, his muscles tensing for a second before he roars his release, the sound and feel of his climax sending her tumbling after him with a long, drawn out moan of ecstasy.

All thought stops after that and for several minutes they lie without moving, his body still partly covering hers, his face buried in her neck, her hands resting against his damp skin, their legs tangled together. They must have moved a little, she realises as she slowly comes back to herself, enjoying the delightful tingling that still lingers in her body, for her legs are no longer wrapped around his hips, nor is he inside her. She's never felt so good in her life before, she thinks dreamily as she begins to stroke his back with one hand, her lips lifting in a smile of true joy. He hums under her ministrations and she feels her heart fill and threaten to burst with love for him. Should she say it now, she wonders, or is it a bad idea to do it right after sex? Perhaps he'll think it's just the afterglow talking. Perhaps it's better to say it another time, in the morning perhaps. She pushes the though aside for now and focuses on her body. It feels bloody marvellous, a tingling mass of pure sensation and pleasure. He's a bloody magician, she thinks dreamily... with a fucking huge wand. She grins at the thought and turns her head towards his shoulder, fighting hard to contain the giggles that want to escape her.

“You're thinking very loudly, Ruth,” he mumbles sleepily, pressing a soft kiss against her shoulder and sliding his head back so he can focus on her face. His eyes are hooded and sated, a lazy smile flirting with his gorgeous, sensual lips.

“I was trying to decide whether the whisky bottles stand for 'you are thrillingly huge', 'throbbingly hard', 'happily thorough', or 'honestly tantric',” she grins, delighting in the laughter that escapes him. She loves to see him happy and relaxed, and as he rolls off her, still chuckling at her joke, she feels incredibly lucky to have him. Harry Pearce. Hers. It seems too good to be true.

“I take it you enjoyed that then,” he murmurs when his laughter has subsided.

“Immensely,” she smiles.

“Me too,” he sighs, rolling onto his side again, folding his left arm under this head, and reaching his right hand up to cup her cheek. “My brilliant analyst,” he murmurs affectionately. She wrinkles her nose in displeasure at his choice of words, causing him to frown and drop his hand as he asks, “What?”

“Nothing,” she replies, “I just... well, the other day you said you're not my boss when we're away from work, so it follows that I'm not your analyst either.”

“You're right,” he agrees solemnly. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I should have said you're my brilliant, beautiful, sexy, irresistible _lover_.” His voice drops into an intimate rumble on the last word, making her blush, and she can't help smiling shyly as she lifts her eyes to his. He looks happy and sated, his eyes twinkling as he gazes at her adoringly.

“I think you have me confused with yourself, Harry,” she murmurs softly.

“Hardly,” he objects. “I'm certainly not beautiful or brilliant, and as to sexy and irresistible, well... you've managed to resist me for years, Ruth.”

“Only because you're my boss, Harry,” she replies, “and you didn't show any indication of wanting me. I've thought you were sexy and highly shaggable since about ten seconds after meeting you for the first time, all those months ago.” He smiles softly at her words and covers her hand with his as it lies between them on the bed, but then she sees his eyes widen in alarm and feels her pulse quicken in response as she asks worriedly, “What?”

“I've just realised,” he groans, rolling onto his back and covering his face with his hand for a moment, “we didn't use protection. I meant to use a condom, but I forgot in the heat of the moment.” He turns back to face her, saying in a deeply apologetic tone of voice, “I'm so sorry, Ruth,” and he looks so upset and disgusted with himself that she feels her heart expand with love for him.

“It's all right, Harry,” she soothes softly, lifting her hand to caress his chest. “It's rather flattering actually that you've forgotten all about it two times out of three, and besides, I took care of it,” and at his puzzled frown, she adds, “When I went to the doctor, after the first time, she suggested a copper coil as it would work right away as well as... in the long run. So since you'd said you wanted our relationship to... continue, I thought that would probably be the best option. I meant to tell you last time but I was... well... a bit shy,” she confesses with a blush.

“So it seems I'm not the only one who was prepared,” he smiles softly, lifting her hand from his chest and bringing it to his lips, softly kissing her palm.

“No,” she agrees, “though I haven't gone as far as keeping a holdall with all the essentials in my car yet.” She blushes as she realises what she's said, and looks down quickly, mentally kicking herself.

“Ruth?” he questions, releasing her hand and reaching for her chin, tilting it up so he can see her face. “You _do_ know that the bag I keep in the car is for operational reasons _only_ , don't you? Sometimes, though the older I get, the less frequently it happens, I need to change out of my a suit and tie to meet an asset, or for some other op, so it comes in handy if I'm already out of the office or far from home... And besides, I've been in this business long enough to know that having a bag or two packed and ready to go is a distinct advantage as you never know when you'll need to run, hide, or spend a few days in a safe house. And believe me, having your own shaving kit and a change of your own clothes can make a world of difference in a situation like that.”

Her relief is palpable and she feels tears spring to her eyes even as she smiles in happiness, turning towards him and wrapping her left arm around him as she buries her face in his shoulder. She feels his arm wrap around her in return, his hand running gently up and down her back while he presses his lips against her hair. “I have... many failings and limitations, Ruth,” he murmurs softly into her hair, “not least of all my job and what it demands of me, but I _am_ trying to be a better man... a man who can make you happy. I promise you that I will endeavour to never cheat or lie to you, Ruth, and to never hurt you.” She nods, not trusting her voice, and presses a soft kiss against his bare skin. Then she feels him pull away, saying, “Come. Let's get in bed.”

So she releases him and follows him as he turns and shuffles over towards the other side of the bed, her muscles barely able to respond to the commands sent by her brain, they're so relaxed and sated. She sighs as he rests her head on the pillow, the one in the middle of Harry's huge bed while Harry reaches down for the covers and begins to pull them over them. There's still plenty of space for Harry to lie beside her, which she's grateful for as she has no desire to lie in the wet spot they've left on the right side of the bed. She smiles, unconsciously reaching down between her thighs to the slickness she finds there. “Would you like a towel?” she hears him murmur, making her eyes fly open in alarm as she pulls her hand away quickly and blushes deeply in embarrassment. He's watching her, his gaze warm and knowing; “Or I have some wipes too,” he offers softly. He turns away, twisting his body round as he pulls open the drawer of the bedside table and reaches inside, retrieving a box of wipes and a soft flannel which he places on the bed between them. “Here,” he murmurs, looking slightly embarrassed now, no doubt knowing that she's guessed what he uses these items for when he's alone.

“Actually,” she finds herself whispering softly, “I like it. It's... part of you.” She flushes scarlet at that and turns away, burying her face in the pillow, his stunned expression making her wish she'd just kept her mouth shut. He doesn't say anything, but she can hear him open and close the drawer again and then feels him lie down beside her, pulling the duvet over their naked bodies and switching off the bedside lamp, plunging the room in darkness save for the moonlight still streaming in through the window. He reaches for her then, his fingers finding her left arm under the covers and trailing slowly down it before sliding over to her back, his palm resting softly against her waist, pausing there for an instant before gliding up to her shoulder.

“Ruth?” he murmurs huskily.

“Yes?” she whispers.

“I'd like... to hold you,” he says, sounding uncertain. “May I?”

“Yes,” she replies, and when she feels him move closer and wrap his arm around her shoulders, she turns her head and body towards him, wrapping her arm around his waist and pressing her face against his chest, her left leg slipping between his. She can hear his heart beating, its rhythm quite fast in response to her proximity, and when she accidentally on purpose presses her body a little closer, her thigh riding up between his a little more, she can feel that he's no longer completely flaccid. “Harry?” she questions softly, more than a little impressed by how fast he's recovered, her body beginning to respond with desire.

“Yes?” he murmurs huskily, his fingers running softly down her spine as he presses his lips against her hair and then her forehead, trailing soft kisses down to her cheek when she tilts her head back to look at him.

“Are you...?” she asks breathlessly.

“Yes,” he growls, capturing her lips with his and kissing her soundly as he rolls her underneath him. He takes his time and is incredibly tender, thorough and totally in control this time, building her up and watching her come again and again before he allows himself to join her, climaxing quietly inside her as he whispers her name. But afterwards, as she's drifting off to sleep in his arms, utterly sated and exhausted, she knows that their first time tonight was the best because he'd lost control and had allowed her a rare glimpse into the heart of the beautiful man he is below all the armour he wears and behind all the walls he has erected to protect himself and his soft, gentle soul. 


	22. Chapter 22

_Early the next morning – Wednesday, 2nd November_

 

She wakes to the sound of waves crashing on the shore and the cry of sea gulls in the air. It's a wonderfully relaxing and comforting sound, reminding her of summer holidays spent along the coast of Devon and Cornwall, running on the beach, building castles in the sand, rock-pooling with her dad, and eating ninety-nines. She feels movement beside her and a warm hand comes to rest on her hip, his thumb sliding softly over the sensitive skin of her stomach as he murmurs her name, his voice still thick from sleep.

“Hmmmmm...” she hums, smiling in delight when she realises he's beside her and the memories of last night come flooding back. She opens her eyes and finds him watching her, a small smile gracing his lips, his gaze warm and gentle.

“Good morning,” he whispers. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” she replies, suddenly remembering how unusual that is. It's the best night's sleep she's had in a very long time. “I _did_ sleep well,” she smiles. “Did you?”

“Like a baby,” he grins, and she feels her heart warm at the joy that is evident in his gaze.

“Why do people say that?” she wonders out loud. “Babies don't sleep well at all. They keep their parents up half the night at least.”

“I've no idea,” he confesses, looking rather amused by her random musings.

She smiles and reaches forward to touch him, running two fingers of her left hand along his jaw to his chin. “Good morning, my lover,” she says, enjoying the feel of his stubble against her fingertips and the way his eyes darken at her words. “It's nice to finally wake up beside you... but you really didn't need to kidnap me whilst I slept and take me to the seaside for that.” He chuckles and turns towards the bedside table, but she stops him, saying, “No, don't turn it off. I like it. It makes me think of warm, carefree holidays by the sea.”

So he turns back and smiles as he confesses, “Me too. That's why I chose it. It's an altogether more pleasant way to wake up than the shrill ring of the alarm.”

“And you like a bit of luxury,” she smiles.

“What gave me away?” he asks, his eyes twinkling at her.

“Well,” she replies, lifting her head and turning onto her stomach so that she's looking down on him as she supports her weight on her forearms, “there's your car, for one, your wonderful shower that I had the pleasure of using last night, your bath that I hope to try sometime very soon, and of course, this bed. You know they have a name for a bed like this in Russia. It's called a сексодром... you know, a combination of the words sex and airport.”

He chuckles, murmuring softly, “It never ceases to amaze me how much information you carry around in that brilliant mind of yours, Ruth. Where on earth did you hear that?”

“Mark Simmons,” she replies, “a friend of mine from GCHQ. He's one of the Russian specialists there.” There's something queer in his eyes as she says it and it takes her a moment to place the look and to realise what it means. She smiles, delighting in the realisation that he's jealous. “What?” she asks innocently, wondering if he'll admit what he's feeling.

“Is there any particular reason why you were discussing what the Russians call a large bed?” he asks, trying to sound unconcerned, but failing.

“Jason Parsons,” she smiles, “one of the mathematicians, was showing us a picture of a fancy, oak bed he'd ordered – he was always showing off like that – and Mark told him that it was nice but it was no сексодром. Needless to say, Jason was not impressed, but it shut him up most effectively, which is what the rest of us wanted.” She reaches down to kiss him, pressing her lips to his softly before pulling back to whisper against them, “You needn't be jealous, Harry. He's just a good friend. He was never my lover.”

“But I bet he wanted to be,” he growls, drawing her against his body and kissing her soundly.

“He might have,” she smiles when they come up for air, enjoying the feel of him swelling against her stomach as she gazes into his passion filled eyes. “But he can't have me,” she adds softly.

“No, he can't,” he murmurs, rolling her underneath him, “because you're _mine_.”

“ _Yours_?! That's a bit... chauvinistic, don't you think?” she frowns up at him, despite the warmth she feels spreading over her heart at his words.

“No,” he replies, huskily, “because I'm yours too, Ruth. All yours.” And nothing more is said for some time after that.


	23. Chapter 23

Luckily the tube journey from Harry's is much more straight forward than it is from her place so, despite the extra distance, she ends up arriving at work pretty much on time. Harry had offered her a lift, of course, but she'd refused, scared that his driver would recognise her and spill the beans. He'd not pressed her to accept, but she could tell that he hadn't been altogether happy about it, perhaps because he was hurt that she still feels the need to hide their relationship from others despite the closeness they'd been feeling since waking up together and making love in the early morning, a closeness that had lingered while showering together and sharing a pot of coffee and some toast in near total silence, their looks, smiles and occasional gentle touches saying more than words ever could. The truth is, however, that she's still scared to trust this new found level of intimacy with Harry, scared that the gossip and teasing of their colleagues, not to mention the harsh cynicism and resulting negative assumptions of others in the Service, particularly those higher up in Five, Six and even the government, will destroy this beautiful and still delicate thing between them and break them apart before they've even had a chance to explore where their new found closeness might lead. So she wants to be careful, to protect them from the outside world for a little while, at least until they're more steady and sure of each other.

She'd wanted to explain this to him, but she hadn't been able to find the right words so, in the end, she'd just reached up to kiss him and thanked him for a wonderful night and morning after, and that seemed to have been enough as he'd looked happy when she'd pulled back. Then she'd left, turning the collar of her coat up against the morning chill and walking briskly away and, in fact, she'd been just in time as, moments later, Harry's driver had pulled up. As she'd turned the corner into the next street, she'd glanced back in time to see Harry getting into the car. He'd been watching her, and as their eyes had met, she'd seen him smile softly and lift two fingers to his lips, surreptitiously blowing her a kiss.

She ducks her head and smiles now as she steps into the pods, remembering that kiss, her heart warming at the memory. Her eyes fall on her shoes and she feels a nervous flattering in her stomach. Will anyone notice that she's wearing flats this morning, she wonders. It's unusual for her to not be wearing boots and it worries her that someone will realise that she hadn't been home last night. Not that they're particularly dressy shoes; she'd taken care to choose a pair that don't look too fancy for work as she'd known she couldn't conceal a pair of boots in her handbag when she'd planned to seduce Harry. “Stop it, Ruth,” she murmurs to herself in an effort to dispel her worries as the pod swings open and she steps onto the Grid. Even if someone notices her shoes, no one's going to guess why she's wearing them this morning.

She makes her way over to her station, warmly greeting Malcolm, who's just leaving the kitchen with two cups of tea in hand, and wishing Zaf a good rest as he staggers bleary eyed towards the pods after taking the night shift. Then she dumps her bag down by her desk and sheds her coat, desperately trying to forget the feel of Harry's hands gliding over her shoulders and down her arms as he'd helped her slip it on this morning and failing. She feels her cheeks heat up and turns away to hang up her coat, hoping no one's noticed her blush and sternly telling herself to pull herself together. She can't spend the rest of the day mooning over Harry, especially not if she wants to have any hope of keeping their secret. So by the time she has the computer up and running, she's successfully managed to rein in her treacherous memories, thoughts and feelings, and is ready to work, the fact that Harry's away at meetings for most of the morning doing wonders in helping her re-establish her sense of equilibrium.

The morning passes swiftly enough as it's quiet with just routine surveillance and paperwork to keep on top of, and she soon has a steady rhythm going in her work. By mid morning, she's pleased to note that she's well on the way to clearing her in-tray, something that happens only rarely as she never has as many junior desk officers as she really needs and there's always something more pressing, some operation or other that needs her attention and skills. Not that she's complaining; she loves the operations most of all, enjoying working under pressure and the rush of adrenaline that goes hand in hand with the work, loving knowing that she's making a difference, that her work is valued, and thriving on the thrill of being a spy. Then again, she wouldn't say no to a little more help; she really could use a few more desk officers. Harry's promised that some new personnel are to be hired soon, but that was over two months ago now and the Home Office is still dragging its feet. She's all but given up hope of them ever materialising now, to be honest, though Adam's still doggedly persisting in nagging Harry about the new field agent he's been promised. She smiles, thinking about it as she files yet another paper away and looks up.

The Grid is teeming with activity as usual, people coming and going about the place, busy in their work or taking a much needed break. She lifts her arms to stretch and decides a tea break is in order, so she picks up her empty mug and wonders over to the kitchen, taking a detour round to her two junior desk spooks, Amanda and John, wanting to check up on them and offer to bring them some tea. They've already brought her two mugs between them, and she doesn't feel comfortable not returning the favour, despite her seniority. To be honest, she doesn't feel very comfortable managing them and would much rather not be in charge at all, but they're both younger than her and much less experienced, and though they show promise, they don't really have the same level of innate ability or dedication that she does. They're willing to learn and work hard though, which is all she can ask for really.

Their work stations are just round the corner from hers, right next to each other, and as she approaches them unseen, she hears John saying, “Nooo! But are you sure it was her?”

She frowns and slows her step, wondering briefly if they're just taking a bit of a break like her, or if they've been chatting all morning and she's going to have to do something about the proximity of their works stations to each other. “It was. I'm sure of it,” she hears Amanda whisper excitedly. “He had his arms round her and they were gazing into each other's eyes.” Then she adds, “Don't be an arse, John. _I_ think it's rather sweet,” clearly responding to some gesture or facial expression of her companion. She's just stepped around the corner when Amanda's words register in her brain and she suddenly feels like all the wind has been knocked out of her. It can't be, she tells herself as John replies, “If you say so. But one thing’s for certain; we'd _really_ best mind our Ps and Qs around her now.” They can't be talking about her and Harry. Please, God, let them not be talking about her and Harry.

But as Amanda looks up and she registers the brief look of horror that crosses her face before she recovers and says brightly, “Ruth! Is there something you needed?” the feeling of unease inside her intensifies and she feels physically sick.

“I was getting a cuppa and wondered if you two needed a refill,” she replies calmly, masking the turmoil inside her.

“Sure,” she replies and gets up, grabbing John's mug and adding, “I'll help you.” So she follows the younger woman into the kitchen, distracting herself from her worries by discussing work and their progress on the tasks she's set them, and it's only once she's back at her own station that she allows herself to think over what she overheard. They could have been talking about anyone, she reasons as she attempts to push away the cold fingers of fear that are threading through her insides. There's no need to jump to conclusions, she tells herself. All the same, she determines to be extra careful not to give anything away when Harry comes back onto the Grid.

He returns at around eleven and she has to fight valiantly to keep her eyes from lingering on him too long when he steps through the pods, in spite of her resolution. His eyes immediately and unerringly find hers, and he smiles at her briefly before turning towards his office, his actions setting off fireworks insider her, a mixture of emotions that churn around her stomach and almost make her feel ill, the anxiety over being found out blending with the pleasure bubbling up inside her. She hurriedly looks away, hoping nobody's noticed, but no one seems to be aware of them. Amanda and John are safely at their desks round the corner, and the rest of the people milling around seem utterly uninterested. Relieved, she turns back to find him sitting at his desk now, pulling at his tie to loosen it as he listens to Adam, who's followed him into his office, telling him something. She smiles and looks quickly away again, feeling her insides settle as they flood with warmth at the memory of tying it for him this very morning, his eyes watching her tenderly the entire time as his thumbs drew distracting patterns against her hip bones.

“You look lovely today, Ruth,” Fiona says, interrupting her reverie and almost making her jump.

“Thank you,” she nods, trying hard not to blush. “I slept well last night for a change.”

“That'll do it,” Fiona smiles, handing her a folder. “The report on Volkov. Adam said to give it to you when I was done.”

“Thanks,” she nods and takes the folder, watching the other woman as she walks away and feeling her stomach clench in worry again. Her smile had seemed... knowing, but... No, she tells herself crossly. She's being paranoid now. She needs to stop this, she thinks and determinedly turns back to work, deciding to time herself so she doesn't get caught looking at Harry too often. No more than once every hour she tells herself sternly.

She manages to settle down and get lost in her work again, and when next she looks up, it's lunch time and Harry's on the phone, talking to someone important, no doubt, looking completely in control, exuding power and authority, arguing his point with a firm, confident air. She's always thought him incredibly sexy when he's in his element like this, but as she watches him now, she feels hot desire stir inside her, the knowledge that they're together, that he's _hers_ somehow turning her on so much more than usual. Almost without realising what she's doing, she picks up her phone and quickly texts him, 'I miss your lips'. She watches as he picks up his phone and opens the message though he's still on his office line. Then she sees him smile for a split second before he launches into further argument with the person at the other end of the line, his eyes lifting to look at her through the window and sending her a brief, smouldering look. She feels her face heat up and drops her gaze, turning to her computer and pretending to get some more work done while daydreaming of Harry and what his wonderful lips can do to her.

The sound of her phone chirping brings her out of her reverie and she's delighted to see the message from him – 'Miss you too. Bring me an update in ten. My office.' She lifts her eyes to glance at him again and catches Fiona just looking away, a small smile on her lips. Ice cold fear floods her insides at that, and she swiftly gets up and goes to the loo, _really_ worried now that Fiona saw something or suspects something's going on between her and Harry. It takes her a few moments to calm down and get a hold of her fear, giving herself a good telling to, trying to convince herself that nobody knows, that it's natural for people to gossip, and that even if they did know, it wouldn't matter a bit.

When she returns, takes a seat, and bravely lifts her eyes again to look around, she finds nothing amiss. Fiona's still at her desk, working on something and no one else seems to be doing anything unusual or suspicious, no one's paying her or Harry any particular attention, so she relaxes somewhat and turns back to work, telling herself that she must be imagining things.

Ten minutes later, she gets up to bring an update to Harry in his office as he's requested, surreptitiously glancing around to see if anyone's watching, only to find him coming out to meet her, saying, “Sorry, Ruth, can it wait?”

“Of course,” she replies, recovering quickly from her surprise. “It's just the update you wanted.”

“Oh, right,” he frowns, and she can't help admiring him, how cool he is, how well he masks his feelings and thoughts. “Walk with me. I need to get down to the interrogation rooms.” So as he turns to his left, she follows him down the corridor, summarising the report she hands him as he listens attentively to what she's saying. They turn right and pass through the fire door, which he holds open for her, gently directing her further to their right with his body by seemingly unconsciously blocking her way and forcing her to walk around him, but as she draws level with him, he stops her with a gentle hand on her arm and murmurs her name. She lifts her eyes to his in surprise, watching as he takes a few steps towards her, gently guiding her backwards until she's up against the wall before he leans in, and kisses her softly, tenderly, once, twice, three times, his lips warm and gentle. “God, I've missed you,” he murmurs as he pulls back. She's still a little stunned by the unexpectedness of his kisses and his sudden change in demeanour from boss spook to her soft, gentle Harry, when he smiles and adds, “Shall we continue? We don't want to linger in a blind-spot for long or someone might get suspicious.”

She nods, relieved to hear that this is a blind-spot and they resume their walk down the hall. Her brain is still fuzzy from his kisses, but he's already back in work mode, asking her for clarification on a couple of points, and she's grateful for that as the questions snap her out of her stupor and get her back onto her task of updating him on the most pressing intel they have.

They separate at the lift that will take Harry to the basement. He thanks her for the update, giving her a small smile before getting into the lift as she turns to walk back to her station to grab her things and head outside, grateful beyond words that it's lunch time, which gives her the perfect excuse to escape the confines of the Grid for a little while; she desperately needs some air and some time to calm and centre herself once more.


	24. Chapter 24

By the time the working day is nearing its end, she's exhausted despite the fact that it's been such a slow, uneventful day in terms of work. In fact, she decides as she glances at the clock for the eighth time in as many minutes, she'd much rather battle terrorists, with all the angst, tension and high stakes pressure it entails, instead of dealing with the debilitating paranoia she's experienced today. The past hour or so has been a perverse kind of slow torture, her little remaining energy draining away completely and her productivity flagging, and she would give almost anything for a hot bath right now, a large chunk of chocolate, and a glass of wine, followed by an evening spent curled up on the sofa, watching a good film, and an early night. Instead, she's stuck here, not really doing anything constructive and wondering if anyone would miss her were she to walk off the Grid now, or rather in a few minutes when the clock strikes five. She's usually one of the last to leave at night, so she should feel entitled to an early night today and she's sure no one would begrudge her that, or doubt that she's earned it, but unfortunately, her current state of anxious apprehension over her relationship with Harry being discovered makes her extremely reluctant to break her routine in any way that might arouse suspicion. Yet, at the same time, she cannot see how she can survive another two hours of this.

Her office phone rings, making her jump, and she almost knocks the receiver onto the floor in her haste to answer it before anyone notices how little attention she's been paying to anything at all. “Hello?” she says a little breathlessly.

“Ruth,” Harry's warm voice greets her and she can't help looking over at him through the glass wall of his office. He's watching her, his eyes soft and concerned.

“Hi,” she replies, dropping her gaze for a moment in flustered confusion before glancing around, her paranoia flaring up again. There's a flurry of activity going on around her now, a sure sign that five o'clock's approaching fast, with people frantically finishing up their work, tidying their works stations, taking mugs back to the kitchen, or delivering some last minute report or memo before they head off home.

“Is everything all right?” he asks softly, drawing her attention back to him as she relaxes back in her chair, knowing that the chances of anyone overhearing or noticing anything beyond their immediate vicinity as they attempt to get off the Grid as soon as possible are minimal right now.

“Fine,” she smiles, then hesitates before adding, “I'm just a little tired.”

“I'm sorry,” he replies.

“It's not your fault,” she reassures him quickly, distracted by some of the junior officers who pass by her station and wish her a good evening on their way out to some bar or pub, no doubt, before they head home. She smiles and wishes them good night, following their progress towards the pods for a few moments before Harry's next words make her eyes snap back to his.

“Isn't it?” he purrs, his voice dropping several registers, his gaze intense all of a sudden, a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth, and she can feel her face heat up as she quickly drops her gaze to her table and starts fiddling nervously with her pen.

“Harry!” she protests softly, desperately trying to get him to stop before someone realises what's going on.

“Sorry,” he replies, his voice softening and sounding contrite, “I couldn't resist,” and she can't help forgiving him, a small smile spreading across her lips as she glances up at him for a moment before dropping her gaze once more. He's so serious most of the time that it warms her heart when he says or does anything playful, even when it _does_ cause her a little discomfort. “Come round to mine again tonight, Ruth,” he murmurs after a brief pause, his voice gentle and hopeful. “I'll cook and we can watch a film or something. It's not every day we get the chance to leave so early, you and I.”

She feels a thrill pass through her at that, but before she can lift her gaze to his again or reply, Zaf calls her name from across the room. Reluctantly, she covers the mouthpiece with her fingers so as not to deafen Harry and turns her head towards him, raising her voice as she asks, “What?”

“We're going to the George,” he explains. “You coming?”

“Not tonight,” she shakes her head.

“Go on, Ruth,” he protests, moving towards her. “It'll do you good. I'll even buy you a drink to sweeten the deal.”

“Aw, Zaf,” she smiles, “that _is_ sweet, but maybe another time. I've got plans tonight.”

“Plans?” he queries, raising an eyebrow at her as he sits on the edge of her desk and leans in, not even bothering to hide his curiosity. “What sort of plans?”

“A glass of wine, a relaxing bath, and an early night for me,” she elaborates. “I'm shattered.”

“Tell him to sod off, Ruth; you're being entirely too nice to him, the nosy Parker,” Harry whispers in her ear then and it's all she can do not to laugh. Instead, she twists round in her chair a bit and leans forward, her body language indicating clearly, she hopes, that the person on the other end of the line has come back.

“Ruth, you work too hard,” Zaf says, still trying to sway her. “Put the phone down and let's go. You need to get out and enjoy life a little.”

But she just waves Zaf away impatiently as she says, “Yes, I'm still here,” and pulls a blank sheet of paper towards her.

Zaf sighs theatrically, shrugs his shoulders in a hopeless gesture of defeat, gets up, and walks away, which is just as well because Harry's next few sentences infuse her whole body with a warmth she doesn't think she can hide from anyone as she feels her skin flush from the end of her toes all the way up to the roots of her hair. She quickly spins her chair round, until she's partially hidden by her computer monitor and begins to scribble furiously, ducking her head down and looking for all the world as if she's taking notes on what the person on the other end of the line is telling her, rather than scribbling a mixture of gibberish and doodles as she listens to Harry's words, transfixed by them, by the warm, husky tone of his voice, her mind conjuring wonderful, vivid images as he speaks while, at the same time, wondering what it would be like to hear him talk like this in bed, describe in infinite, exquisite detail what he wants to do to her, what he wants her to do to him.

“Persistent little bugger, isn't he? On second thought, Ruth, tell him there's a bottle of white wine chilling in my fridge,” he murmurs in her ear as she presses the receiver harder against it in an effort not to miss a thing; “tell him there's a luxurious bathtub with your favourite, lavender scented bubble-bath just waiting to envelop you; tell him there's a warm fireplace and a soft blanket ready to keep you warm while you watch your favourite film; tell him there's a man, a man who cares for you deeply, Ruth, ready to take care of your every need, your every whim, your every desire. And don't forget to tell him about the bed, Ruth, the сексодром that's waiting for you, that's happy to finally be fulfilling it's true purpose instead of merely serving as a place for me to rest my weary bones at night.” There's a pause, and in the sudden stillness over the line, she can hear how laboured her breathing has become. “Ruth?” he whispers. “Come home with me tonight, Ruth. Please.”

“Yes,” she croaks, her throat feels so dry. “I will, Harry.”

“Good,” she hears him exhale, but she doesn't dare look up. Instead she waits for him to speak, trying to still her racing heart and calm her breathing. “I'll pick you up in a cab in front of the DoubleTree hotel, about quarter of a hour after you leave here. All right?”

“Okay,” she whispers.

“Go now,” he replies and puts down the receiver. She stays on the line a little while longer, staring down at the piece of paper in front of her that's utterly covered in gibberish, noting with an abstract kind of fascination how her hand had trembled in places and wondering which particular words had affected her so deeply, before she begins to pull herself together, saying a few appropriate words into the phone, pretending that the call had been work related, before hanging up and beginning to tidy up, locking the doodle filled scrap of paper securely in her top drawer and taking herself off to the loo.

When she comes out again, she's completely calm and unflustered, collecting her things and saying good night to the various people still on the Grid, including Harry as she pops her head into his office and says, “I'm off, Harry.”

He looks up from what he's doing and nods, his gaze unfathomable and his voice calm as he murmurs, “Goodnight, Ruth,” before turning back to his task, seemingly unconcerned. 


	25. Chapter 25

She's been waiting for a couple of minutes, feeling grateful that for once it isn't raining, when her phone rings. She fishes it out of her bag and answers it, her eyes still scanning the road ahead for the cab bearing Harry towards her as she says, “Hello?”

“Ruth,” he replies, his voice sounding so tired and full of longing that she can immediately tell that something's the matter.

“What's wrong?” she asks, frowning as she turns away from the traffic and moves over to stand under a tree, lifting her hand to block her other ear in an effort to hear him better.

“I'm sorry, Ruth,” he sighs, “I'm going to have to postpone our dinner tonight. Something's come up.”

“Oh,” she replies in disappointment before pulling herself quickly together and adding, “That's fine, Harry. I under-”

“It's not bloody fine, Ruth!” he exclaims, his anger flaring with his mounting frustration. “The _one_ time we could have gone home early together and Juliet _bloody_ Shaw decides that she needs my _expert_ opinion. She doesn't give a flying fuck what I think most of the time, but _today_ of all days, she _must_ have my assessment of the situation with Volkov _in_ _person_. I have a good mind to just ignore her and go home with you anyway.”

He pauses there as if seeking her permission to ignore orders because, like it or not, Juliet _is_ Harry's boss and, in that moment, she so wishes that she could grant it, could encourage him to do a bunk and come get her, take her to his home, and make love to her all night long. But she knows she cannot, so instead she says, “You know you can't do that, Harry... no matter how much you, or I, might wish it.”

She hears him exhale heavily before murmuring, “I know... but I swear to God, Ruth, in the mood I'm in right now, I'm ready to go over there and tell her where to shove it.”

“But you won't,” she states, sensing that he needs her to be the voice of reason at the moment. “If you let her see she's upset you by ruining your plans for tonight, she'll enjoy it all the more and you'll only be giving her more ammunition against you. Put the whisky away, Harry, throw some cold water on your face, and go get it over with as fast as possible.”

He sighs deeply at that and it's some moments before he replies, “God, Ruth. You know me so well. What would I ever do without you? I...” he pauses for a moment and she finds herself holding her breath, the tone of his voice suggesting that he might be about to say those three little words she's been longing to hear but, if so, he seems to think better of it, saying instead, “Find a cab, Ruth. Take a taxi home and I'll pay for it.”

“No, Harry,” she begins to protest, her disappointment palpable, “I'll take the bus.”

“Please, Ruth,” he murmurs softly. “I feel so bad about this and it would make me feel a little better to know you're safely on your way home in the comfort of a cab. At least let me keep that part of my promise. You wouldn't begrudge me that, would you?”

“Okay, fine,” she sighs, smiling in spite of herself. “I'll get a taxi home.”

“Thank you,” he replies. They're silent for several moments before he adds softly, “If I'm done quickly, Ruth, would you mind if I rung you? You know, to say goodnight?”

“I'd mind if you didn't, Harry,” she smiles. “In fact, I'd be very upset if you didn't ring me to say goodnight.”

“Good,” he says, and she's sure he's smiling. “That's good. I'll call you later... unless you're sleeping. Text me before you go to sleep, Ruth. I'd hate to wake you.”

“I will, Harry,” she agrees.

“Good night then, Ruth,” he murmurs softly. “Sweet dreams.”

“I thought you said you'd call me,” she smiles, feeling her disappointment retreat somewhat at his warm, gentle words.

“I did,” he agrees. “I will. But I thought... you know, just in case.”

“I see,” she replies. “Well, good night then, Harry. Sweet dreams... just in case.”

She hears him chuckle softly before he says, “I've got to go. Don't forget about the cab, Ruth, and I'll speak to you later.”

“Yes,” she replies.

“Bye,” he murmurs and then the line goes dead. She sighs heavily as she slips her phone into her bag and takes a step in the direction of the road, beginning to search for a taxi as she curses Juliet Shaw under her breath. God, how she hates that woman.


	26. Chapter 26

When Harry rings, she's curled up on the settee dressed in her warmest pyjamas and wrapped in a fleecy blanket, her second glass of wine in her hand as she watches the Red Shoes. She puts down the glass, picks up the phone and brings it to her ear as she turns down the volume of the TV and murmurs with a smile, “Hello, Harry. How did it go? Is the Wicked Witch of Whitehall still breathing?”

“Only just,” he replies with a chuckle, “and she has you to thank for it.”

“Shame she doesn't know it,” she grins. “She might be a bit nicer to me if she did.”

“I doubt it,” he murmurs. “Juliet Shaw doesn't do nice. I don't think she even knows the meaning of the word.”

“Pity,” she sighs, “though I suppose it would feel rather strange to have her be civil. Was she always like this?”

“Yes,” he replies, “though she used to be a little less confrontational and aggressive as I recall.” There's a pause during which she suspects they're both thinking the same thing about Juliet and why she might have been less confrontational and aggressive towards Harry in the past.

“I imagine she had to be a little more... diplomatic as a more junior officer,” she says carefully, trying to push aside the images of Juliet seducing Harry that fill her mind.

“Yes,” he agrees and pauses for a moment before adding cautiously, “though she was always rather ruthless. She'll stop at nothing to get what she wants and that makes her very dangerous.”

“And what is it she wants, Harry?” she asks uncertainly, wondering if he's trying to warn her about something and dreading to think what it might be.

“I don't know,” he confesses with a sigh. Then in a moment of surprising insight that alarms her a little, he adds, “Though it's not me if that's what's worrying you... at least, not in the biblical sense.”

She's not quite sure how to reply to that because she _has_ been worrying about it, about what would happen if Juliet tried to seduce him, or worse, if Harry was still... No, no, she tells herself sternly, he's only interested in _her_ now - no one else, and least of all someone as vile as Juliet Shaw. He's not the same man he used to be. It would be like her wanting to sleep with.... with... Gary Hicks! It would just never happen. Ever. They've both changed too much; they're different people. Just like Juliet and Harry. What drew them together all those years ago just isn't there any more. Then realising that she's been silent for several moments, she says quickly, “Thanks for dinner, Harry,” hoping to change the subject. “It was a lovely surprise.”

“Did it arrive in time?” he asks, his voice sounding more relaxed now and she's sure he's equally relieved by the shift in their conversation. “I was worried it might arrive after you'd eaten.”

“No, it got here before I'd thought about getting myself some food,” she smiles, “and it was delicious. You didn't have to do that, you know.”

“But I wanted to, Ruth,” he murmurs, his voice soft and intimate.

“Thank you,” she whispers, feeling her heart begin to race. Then she adds playfully, “But don't think this gets you off the hook, Harry Pearce. You promised to cook for me, and I intend to make sure you keep that promise.”

“Not scared I might poison you with my less than stellar culinary skills then, Ruth?” he chuckles, joining in the playful banter.

“Not at all, Harry,” she smiles. “I intend to have you taste everything first.” He begins to laugh hard at that, his delightful Muttley laugh making her heart ache for him. “You know, I couldn't manage all the food,” she murmurs uncertainly after a beat. “There's still a lot left over if... if you'd like to come over.”

“Open your front door, Ruth,” he replies huskily and she knows he's standing right outside it.

Quickly, she throws off the blanket and scrambles to her feet, her heart beating fast with excitement as she dashes to the front door and flings it open. “Hello,” she smiles as she lowers the phone and presses the end call button. “Come in.”

He's smiling broadly as he steps through her front door and watches her close and lock it, but as she turns to face him once more, his face is serious and his gaze intense as he moves quickly forward and captures her lips in a warm, impatient kiss, a kiss that tells her that he's missed her very much.

“I've wanted to do that all day,” he murmurs when he pulls back. She smiles up at him as their gazes hold for a moment before he begins to shrug off his coat and turns to hang it up.

“It's very presumptuous of you, Harry,” she teases lightly while she watches him hang it on the hook beside hers, “waiting by my front door like that. I might not have wanted to let you in.”

“Then I would have turned around and gone home,” he shrugs as he turns back to face her. “I like to be prepared. It would have been exceedingly frustrating and painful to find myself half way across London if I'd gone home and you'd asked me over tonight... as you did.”

“That's true,” she agrees as he moves closer again. “And the shoes, Harry,” she demands, causing him to pause and look down at his feet. “You're entirely too tall to kiss comfortably with them on.” She's only wearing her warm fluffy socks, having forgotten her slippers in the living room in her haste to let him in, and the difference in their height, and size, is more noticeable than ever.

He smiles, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes as he lifts them to hers and replies, “I don't know, Ruth, my feet are cold. How many kisses are we talking about here?”

“Hmmm,” she hums, pretending to think about it, adoring this playful side of Harry. “One or two?” she says innocently.

“Only that?” he asks, pouting adorably.

“Why?” she queries. “How many were you hoping for?”

“For the trouble of taking off my shoes?” he murmurs. “Oh, at least fifty.”

“Fifty?!” she exclaims in mock outrage. “You must be joking. For fifty, your tie, suit, shirt and pants will have to go too.”

He laughs and moves closer, resting his hands on her hips as he whispers, “Deal... but what about my socks?”

“You can keep them on if you like,” she smiles, “so your feet aren't cold.”

“That's very generous of you,” he grins, leaning towards her, his eyes hungrily dropping to her lips.

“Not so fast, Harry,” she objects, ducking away and slipping round him, moving further into the house. “Shoes first please.”

“Fine,” he sighs as he reaches down to undo his laces. “How many are the shoes worth exactly?”

“Eight,” she smiles. “Eight each for the shoes, tie, jacket, shirt, and trousers. Your pants are worth ten.”

“And here I was thinking that you invited me here to feed me,” he grumbles as he kicks his shoes aside and advances towards her in his silent, sock covered feet.

“I did,” she agrees, “but then you wanted kisses instead of food.” Then she smiles coyly and turns away, walking into the living room where the gas fire is still burning merrily in the grate, her heart fluttering with pleasure.

She's half way to the sofa when he catches up with her, reaching a hand out to grasp her elbow and turn her to face him. “A man can live for a hundred years on your kisses alone, Ruth,” he murmurs huskily as he leans in.

“God, Harry,” she whispers breathlessly as his face looms close to hers, one of his hands slipping behind her head as his other arm snakes around her waist, trapping her against him. “You never told me you were a bloody poet!”

“I'm not,” he replies huskily and dips his head down, pausing just millimetres from her lips to whisper softly, “It's you; you must be my Muse, Miss Ruth Evershed.”

“Ms,” she objects, her voice escaping in a rush of air, her heart beating wildly.

He pauses, lifting his head a little to see her better, his eyes holding hers and his lips curling in a smirk. “ _Ms_ Evershed,” he murmurs. “Happy now?”

“Yes,” she breathes, and then his lips take hers in a fierce kiss, all tenderness gone in an onslaught of passion. She moans and pulls him closer, her hands gripping this suit jacket as her lips part and she allows him to delve deeply into her mouth, her tongue coming forward to rub against his, the clash of their passions feeding their desire until they're both ready to explode with need.

“God, Ruth,” he gasps when the need for air forces them apart, “you make me burn. I've never met anyone like you. You're intoxicating and addictive. I just can't get enough of you.” He leans in for another kiss, but almost as soon as their lips meet, his stomach rumbles loudly, making her smile.

“Stop smiling, Ruth,” he complains, against her mouth. “I'm not done kissing you.”

She's about to reply when his stomach _growls_ this time, a sound ten times louder than before, and she can't help laughing. Even _he's_ smiling now as he pulls back, a sheepish grin spreading across his lips as he murmurs an apology.

“Foiled by your own stomach, Harry,” she laughs. “When's the last time you ate?”

“Lunch time, I think,” he answers.

“I guess I'd better feed you first after all, Harry, before you pass out on me,” she smiles, turning towards the kitchen.

“I never pass out, Ruth,” he replies, sounding a little indignant, presumably baulking at the idea of being thought weak in any way, and it makes her smile. It must be so hard to be a man, having to constantly deal with this ridiculous male pride they all seem to have, she thinks as she moves over to the fridge and gets out the food, placing it on the kitchen counter before reaching to open the cupboard above her to get him a plate. He beats her to it, however, opening the cabinet and pulling one out for her, placing it gently on the counter next to the food. “Thanks,” she smiles, raising her eyes to his.

“Are you having some too?” he asks softly, his proximity and gentle gaze making her heart beat fast again.

She shakes her head no and then promptly tells him to take a seat. “Rest, Harry,” she murmurs. “You've only just finished work whereas I've been lying on the sofa for the past hour. I'll take care of it.” She expects him to argue, but much to her surprise, he doesn't, taking a seat and watching her as she sets the table, pours him a glass of wine, serves his food, and warms it up while she retrieves her own glass from the other room.

“Here you go,” she says as she carefully puts down the hot plate in front of him before pulling the oven glove off and taking a seat across from him.

“Thank you,” he smiles and she can tell that he's really enjoying this, having her take care of him. She watches him in silence as he eagerly takes a few mouthfuls of food and smiles when he comments on how good it is. She can't take credit for the meal, of course, but it makes her realise that she'd like to cook for him sometime, imagining the pleasure she'd receive from taking care of him and from his appreciation. She's not a bad cook, but she rarely has the time or inclination to make something when she's on her own. But she's not on her own any more, now she has Harry, she thinks dreamily.

“I see you were watching your favourite film,” he murmurs after a while, taking a sip of wine, clearly having satisfied his hunger enough to give her some of his attention once more.

“Yes,” she nods, smiling when she remembers the album inspired by the film that he'd given her for her birthday. “You never _did_ tell me how you found that out.”

“It's a secret,” he replies with a wink and a mischievous smirk before taking another bite of food.

“Which is code for Sam told you,” she states and she feels her good humour abruptly slip away.

He lifts his eyes to hers at that and he suddenly looks wary, clearly having picked up on the slightly accusing tone in her voice. He takes another sip of wine, no doubt buying himself some time to consider his response. “I wanted to get you something... special,” he confesses, giving her an apologetic look.

“You could have asked me,” she counters as the feelings she's kept buried for several months now resurface and she again experiences the acute sense of betrayal and embarrassment she'd felt all those months ago.

“Ruth,” he sighs, “you have a brain the size of England. You'd have figured out what I was up to in about ten seconds, if that, and I wanted it to be a surprise. _That's_ why I asked Sam. If you'd wanted to get me something special, something _unique_ , wouldn't you have picked the brains of someone close to me who might have more information to go on?”

She sighs, nodding her head before reaching for her glass and taking a sip of wine, knowing that he's right and trying to push aside her treacherous thoughts and feelings. “You're right,” she concedes, but as the seconds tick by and she watches him eating, she realises that she's been presented with the perfect opportunity to talk about what happened and to try to understand why, so that, hopefully, she can put the whole thing behind her once and for all. “I guess it seems... wrong,” she ventures carefully, trying to find the right words, “because of the way you... used her to spy on me back in January... and the way you manipulated her and me. You used our friendship to encourage me to break the rules, to pursue something that I would _never_ have done under normal circumstances.” She's surprised by how strong her feelings are now that she's began talking about it, and she has to take a deep breath to calm herself before she can continue, not wanting to put him on the defensive and turn this into an argument. She lifts her eyes to his and adds softly, “Why, Harry? I need to understand.” He drops his gaze to his plate, raising his right hand and massaging his forehead, hiding his eyes from her, and she can tell that he's sorry and ashamed, deeply ashamed of what he did.

“I'm sorry, Ruth,” he whispers after a few moments, lifting pained, apologetic eyes to hers. “There's no excuse. I know there's no excuse... I let everything get out of hand. I told myself all sorts of stories about how, as your boss, I needed to know how far you'd go, I needed to test you, and God knows what other bullshit, but really... I was jealous, pure and simple. And I can be quite irrational when I'm jealous. I know that about myself. I'm sorry I put you, and Sam, through that. Truly sorry.”

She can tell that he means it and she knows how much it must have cost him to admit his mistake and his irrational behaviour. She smiles at him and reaches for his hand across the table, squeezing it as she murmurs, “Apology accepted.”

He smiles and nods his head, squeezing her hand in return as he whispers, “Thank you, Ruth.”

“And you needn't be jealous, Harry,” she adds softly. “It was just a short lived... infatuation. I was lonely and he seemed quite lovely, intelligent, successful, kind, and he sang. But I wouldn't have done anything about it if Sam and Malcolm hadn't encouraged me... And besides, you're lovelier by far.”

“That's good,” he smiles, “because there's something you need to know about me, Ruth.”

“What's that?” she asks in surprise and a little alarm.

He leans towards her and whispers, “I hate to lose.”

She laughs in relief as he pulls back smiling and takes another bite of his food, washing it down with more wine. “I think anyone who's ever met you probably knows _that_ , Harry,” she grins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Harry's present to Ruth on her birthday is mentioned in Harry's Diary, as is the fact that he found out (subtly) from Sam about Ruth's favourite film. He also gave her a book on cats.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had more time to write this week, so fingers crossed that this good fortune will continue. You'll recognise a few lines of dialogue from Spooks here, but the rest is my own work. Thank you again to all of you for reading and especially to those of you who've taken the time and trouble to review. Cheers, S.C.

_Next day – Thursday, 3rd November_

 

It had been a lovely evening and a wonderful night. Their love making had been slow and tender, and though she'd wanted to confess her love, in the end, she hadn't quite been able to muster the courage to do it. She'd suddenly had an ominous feeling that, if she put it into words, everything would fall apart, and though she'd known that it was completely irrational, she hadn't been able to shake the feeling and get past her fear to tell him.

She hadn't slept well despite the sex and his presence in her bed. Her dreams had been troubled, though thankfully devoid of anyone trying to rape her. She'd woken several times in the night, and every time he'd been there, sometimes already awake, stroking her back and murmuring words of comfort, and sometimes waking moments after her and turning towards her, pulling her into his arms and soothing her back to sleep. But when she'd woken with a start at dawn, managing somehow not to disturb him this time, she'd spent what felt like hours watching him sleep, lovingly tracing his features with her eyes in the dim light, thinking how much younger he looks in sleep and marvelling at the fact that he was actually in her bed, something she'd fantasised about for so long. “I love you,” she'd whispered to his sleeping form, and it had made her feel lighter somehow to be saying those words and so happy, even if he hadn't been awake to hear them.

In the morning, he'd woken her with a kiss, and she'd been somewhat disappointed to find him out of bed and leaning over her, fully dressed and ready to go. “Good morning,” he'd murmured softly, kissing her once more. She'd slid her arms around his neck then and kissed him back, telling him to come back to bed, but he'd refused, saying softly, “If only I could, Ruth, but I have to go... I just didn't want to leave without saying goodbye.” She'd sighed and smiled up at him at that, thinking how wonderful he is as she'd watched him straighten up and turn to go, and it had been only after she'd heard the front door close behind him that she'd spied the cup of coffee he'd left for her on the bedside table.

She smiles now as she thinks of it, of how generous he is and of how much joy he brings her. She's walking back along the embankment, having felt the need to escape the Grid for lunch again today. This morning's been even worse than yesterday, and she's beginning to fear that she's not actually being paranoid after all, but that her colleagues really _do_ suspect something. The thought fills her with dread and she's so thoroughly absorbed in her fearful contemplation of this possibility, that she doesn't hear Malcolm calling to her until he materialises suddenly by her side, saying softly, “Hello, Ruth.”

“Malcolm!” she starts. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

“So I noticed,” he smiles. “Good lunch?”

“Yes, thank you,” she replies. “And you?”

“Fine,” he nods. “I went to try out a lovely, little place a friend recommended – Jim's Café. Have you heard of it?”

“No, I haven't,” she replies with a smile, feeling grateful for the distraction Malcolm's conversation always offers. He's a good man and a good friend, and she enjoys talking to him. “Is it good?”

“Very,” he says. “A bit further afield than my regular watering holes, but well worth the trip. You should try it sometime. Take Harry; he'd love it.”

She stops walking at that, her heart pounding. “Harry?” she almost squeaks. “Why would I take Harry? We don't... We're not...”

Malcolm suddenly looks as uncomfortable as she's feeling, dropping his gaze for a moment before clearing his throat and murmuring, “I'm sorry, Ruth, it's none of my business. Please forget I said anything. What you and Harry do in your own time is none of my concern.” Then he glances up at her and adds with a small smile, “Though I _am_ pleased for you both. I think it's wonderful. You're perfect for each other.”

“God, Malcolm,” she exhales, turning away towards the river in an effort to calm herself, the subtle change in her junior officer's behaviour towards her, the knowing looks from Adam, bright smiles from Fiona and sly smirks from Zaf suddenly making perfect sense. She grips the wall before her to steady herself and closes her eyes for a moment, fighting for control. She feels sick to her stomach and can feel the tears begin to build behind her eyelids, threatening to spill at any moment. It had been so good, what she and Harry had. Just for a few days, it had been so _very_ good and now... “Who else knows?” she whispers as she turns to look at him, sensing him standing beside her.

He doesn't reply, but he looks so uncomfortable that she doesn't need him to confirm that the entire Grid knows by now, and she knows now that it's only a matter of time before all the rest of the higher-ups in the service are also privy to the information. Harry Pearce has a lot of rivals and enemies who will be only too happy to reward anyone who brings them this thrilling titbit of information.

She's not quite sure what happens after that, only vaguely recalling making her way back to the Grid and getting back to work, backstopping Fiona's legend for next week, doing some translations that crop up, updating the surveillance report on Volkov, her mind and heart in turmoil as she suddenly grasps the full implications of her relationship with Harry – for her, for Harry, for the team, for the service _and_ for the country. While half her mind is engaged on her work, the other half is distracted, thinking, exploring all the angles, creating lists of pros and cons, throwing them aside, picking them up again, analysing everything and arriving at the same, heartbreaking conclusion every time.

By the time she reaches the same answer for the millionth time, it seems, she's shattered, exhausted, spent, a small part of her dying inside. She saves the file she's working on, rubs her tired eyes, and looks up for the first time in what seems like days. The Grid is empty save for his office and she has a vague recollection of various people – Amanda, Colin, Fiona – saying goodnight. She stops to watch him, a bitter-sweet moment during which she remembers all the moments they've shared these past few days, all the wonderful things he did and said, her heart fluttering in her chest, beating fast, frantically protesting against the course of action her mind has chosen. In vain does she wish for one more minute, one more hour, one more day, one more week, one more month, one more lifetime of blissful ignorance, of being alone in the world with him, of feeling like the only thing that matters is Harry and how he makes her feel.

She watches as he lifts a hand to tiredly rub his eyes, watches as he leans back in his chair, massaging his neck and lifting his eyes to look at her, watches the smile lift the corners of his sensual lips and light up his eyes when he sees her watching. He motions to her, silently inviting her into the inner sanctum of his office for a drink. She nods, taking a deep breath and steeling her heart for what must come before slowly getting up and walking to his door.

“I've never seen you work so hard,” he smiles as she slips into the room, “and that's saying something. You've been lost to the world for hours. Everything all right?”

“Yes,” she replies and takes the tumbler he holds out to her, bringing it to her lips and taking a large, fortifying sip of the amber liquid inside it. It's not a lie, she reasons, as it's true on the work front at least. She takes a seat in the chair on the other side of his desk before looking up at him again. He's frowning down at her, clearly having picked up something in her manner that's making him concerned. He's a spook after all, and a bloody good one at that; she knows she can't fool him for long.

He hesitates before slowly sitting down in his chair, leaving the desk between them. He doesn't drink, but sets aside his glass, leans forwards, and reaches across the table for her hand, taking it gently in his own before asking softly, “Ruth, are you sure? You look... troubled.”

The impulse to pull her hand away in case someone sees is great, but then she remembers that it doesn't matter any more, and besides, nobody's about and she so wants him to hold her hand, to hold all of her really, to cherish and protect her from it all... but she knows that he cannot. No one can protect her from what's coming, protect them both, if they continue to see each other. She's been a fool to think that their relationship could survive in this environment of lies, secrets, treachery and deceit. She can't look at him though, and she can't speak, the words she's been rehearsing in her head, the words that will end it all getting stuck in her throat.

The silence stretches on for a few moments before he continues, clearly deciding that she needs some time before she's ready to tell him what's the matter. “I've been thinking,” he murmurs, his voice warm and hopeful, “that it might be nice to get away from the Grid for a couple of days, take some time off and go somewhere... together.”

Her heart leaps at the thought and she can't help lifting her eyes to his, wanting so much to say yes, but suddenly remembering all the reasons why she can't. “I can't, Harry,” she replies sadly, her heart falling, breaking into a million pieces, all belonging to him.

She watches his eyes darken as the hope in his gaze fades and he asks, “Why not?”

“They know,” she explains, dropping her gaze to her drink and pulling her hand from his, mourning the loss of his touch as she does, fearing that she'll never experience it again. “They all know... about us. They're laughing about it.”

She hears him sigh heavily and can't help lifting her eyes to his. He doesn't look surprised, just... resigned. “So what, Ruth?” he says. His gaze is hard, challenging now as he leans forward, reaching for her hand again. “It was only a matter of time before _someone_ figured it out.”

She's silent for several moments, unable to articulate the depth of her feelings about this, how debilitating she finds it to be the centre of people's attention and gossip, how unhappy it makes her, how it poisons the memories and all the wonderful feelings that their relationship has brought her, and how worried she is that someone, somewhere will use this against them and tear them apart. Better to end it now on her terms than to lose him like that.

He's silent for long moments watching her before he adds softly, his tone of voice gentle now and ever so slightly pleading, “I sit in meetings, listening to briefings that would chill the bone of any ordinary citizen. I've made decisions, seen things, _done_ things... shameful things, and I have to live with that, with their consequences, every day. I've survived twenty eight attempts on my life, Ruth... so I think you'll forgive me if I don't give a rat's arse if a few people find my personal life amusing. The way I see it, we've earned the right to a little bit of happiness, Ruth... and frankly, it's none of their business.”

“But they're not just anybody, Harry,” she protests. “They're members of your team. Don't you see? It undermines your authority and that's unacceptable.”

“To hell with my authority, Ruth,” he replies, squeezing her hand between his own and adding softly, “It's just gossip, Ruth. It'll die down in a week or two. They'll find something else to talk about.”

She shakes her head sadly, murmuring, “It won't, Harry. You know it won't. My desk officers are already walking on eggs around me and Adam and Zaf can't stop smirking. Every new officer that enters the Grid will know and will respect you less, and as to the rest of Five, Six, the JIC, Juliet Shaw, they're going to have a field day when they find out. They're going to use this, milk it for what it's worth, use me to get to you, you know they will and I couldn't bear to see...” she pauses and swallows, finishing the sentence inside her head, “the love die in your eyes,” for though he's never said it, she's almost certain that it's there in his heart and that she can see it in his gaze when he looks at her. Perhaps she's mistaken, but she's sure he feels something for her, a little affection at the very least, and they've certainly become more intimate than she's ever dared hope in the last few days.

“Ruth,” he replies, and this time, he _is_ pleading, “please, Ruth. We can ride this out. I know we can. There's nothing wrong with-”

“How can you say that, Harry?” she interrupts, pulling her hand away from his and getting up, beginning to pace around the room in agitation. “You're my _boss_! Of course this is wrong. It's totally inappropriate. You think I don't know what they're all thinking, what they're saying behind our backs? How they think you're just... screwing me because I'm young and pretty, how they think I'm looking for special treatment and a leg up to a better position? I can't cope with this, Harry. I can't stand being talking about like that. I'm sorry, I just _can't_!” And with that she flees the room, the heartbreak she sees in his gaze as she glances up at him before she runs, bringing tears to her eyes that begin to roll down her cheeks so that, by the time she reaches the bus stop, she can hardly see where she's going, so blurred has her vision become.

 


	28. Chapter 28

_Next day – Friday, 4th November_

 

She feels like death. She'd barely slept a wink last night, spending what seemed like half the night crying and the other half having dark nightmares that woke her up trembling in fear. In fact, she'd felt so bad this morning that she'd almost called in sick. But in the end, she'd been unable to break the habit of a lifetime and skip work for anything short of a really emergency, so she'd dragged herself into the shower, and after two cups of coffee and some toast, she'd finally made it out the door to the bus stop, the cold November chill doing wonders in forcing her fully awake and blowing away the cobwebs. She sits at her desk now, her eyelids beginning to droop in fatigue and she knows it's time for another coffee. She thinks it'll be her fourth cup today and it's only eleven.

Harry's in a foul mood this morning, and she's already overheard Adam and Zaf complaining about it and speculating on what's made him so irascible. Thankfully, her name hadn't come up in their conversation and they seem to have decided that it's work related, probably something to do with his early morning meeting with Juliet Shaw.

Fiona and Adam had been very concerned for her when they'd seen her face this morning, and when she'd been to the bathroom shortly after she'd arrived and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she hadn't been surprised by their reaction. They had assumed, however, that her tired, drawn face was a result of nightmares because of her ordeal, and it had been the first time that she'd been almost grateful for what had happened; it would have been too much to hope that they wouldn't have made the connection between Harry's bad temper and her exhausted face otherwise.

She rubs her eyes and lifts her head to look around, her gaze inevitably drawn to Harry's office, but the blinds are closed today – they have been since she got in this morning. In fact, apart from a glimpse of him when he'd arrived on the Grid at half-nine, she hasn't seen him at all today. Does he feel as bad, as devastated, as she does, she wonders for a moment, or is his male pride just hurt because _she_ was the one to end it? It had been so hard to resist the temptation to call him last night, to beg his forgiveness and take it all back, and she's not quiet sure how she'd done it, managed to remain strong; the heartbreak is almost unbearable.

She gets up quickly, pushing thoughts of him aside lest she start crying again, already feeling the tell tale prickling at the back of her eyelids; her grip on her emotions is tenuous at best today. In the bathroom, she's surprised to find Amanda leaning against the wall, trying to stop the flow of her own tears, and when she finds out the reason for them, she's absolutely livid.

 

* * *

 

“You can't fire Amanda, Harry,” she protests as she barges into his office. “She's a good officer. If you're angry with me, send _me_ away, but don't take it out on her. That's not fair.”

He looks up from the report he's skimming, his gaze dark and unreadable, and she feels her heart constrict at the sight of his face. It's the first good look she's had of him today and he looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept a wink, and she can't help feeling guilty and so sorry that she might be the cause of his suffering.

“Close the door, Ruth,” is all he says after studying her for a moment. So she turns around and slides the door shut before coming forward and taking the seat that he indicates, on the other side of his desk. “I confess that, despite everything, I had thought she would have the decency to leave you out of this,” he says, his eyes flashing in anger and contempt.

“She didn't come to me, Harry,” she replies, her anger rising to match his. “I found her in the bathroom, crying her eyes out. She was almost hysterical. It took me ages to get her to tell me what was wrong, and then all she could do was apologise over and over again. What the hell did you say to her, Harry?” she demands. “She's a good officer. She doesn't deserve this.”

“She's untrustworthy,” he growls, getting up and moving towards the cabinet where he keeps the whisky. She's tempted to say something about that as it's not even lunch time yet, but she thinks better of it.

“Oh, and I suppose you've never divulged something to someone that you shouldn't have, Harry,” she fumes, rising from her seat too, the momentary pause in his movements and sudden tension in his shoulders telling her that she's hit a nerve. “And besides, it's hardly a national secret, just a bit of harmless gossip.”

“Harmless?!” he exclaims incredulously, turning his head sharply towards her, his gaze accusing and furious.

“You know what I mean,” she answers back, refusing to back down though she regrets her poor choice of words; her brain's definitely not firing on all cylinders today. “It's not as if she's a mole or something... like _I_ was,” she adds. “You gave _me_ a second chance.”

“I didn't,” he replies, looking away again and pouring himself a drink despite the early hour.

“What do you mean?” she frowns now, surprised by his response.

“I let Tom deal with it,” he murmurs, taking a large gulp of whisky before turning to face her again. “I never knew it was you. I asked him not to tell me who it was, just to assure me that he'd fixed the leak.”

She's surprised by this, and she can't help staring at him and, rather annoyingly, wondering if and how far she has now fallen in his esteem. “But you suspected,” she states, recovering quickly, realising that perhaps that's why he hadn't wanted Tom to tell him in the first place, though that would mean that he'd been attracted to her even then, something she's not entirely confident is true. He doesn't reply, neither confirming, nor denying it. “What about Danny then? He was practically stealing. Are you going to tell me that you didn't give him a second chance either?”

His gaze is still steely and unfathomable as he regards her steadily, his jaw set, his facial expression giving nothing away. “What do you want, Ruth?” he asks finally.

“I want you to let her stay, to give her another chance,” she replies. “She's _my_ junior officer and I want you to give me the same courtesy you gave Tom and let me keep her... on probation.”

“Fine,” he says curtly.

“Thank you,” she nods, all the fight suddenly going out of her. She drops her gaze to her hands that begin toying nervously with the hem of her top, feeling suddenly acutely uncomfortable and vulnerable in his presence.

“I'm not an ogre, Ruth,” he says softly, the change in his tone of voice, making her lift her eyes to his in surprise. “I was _trying_ to spare you the unnecessary embarrassment of dealing with the person whose actions have made you so uncomfortable.” He looks away, adding, “She saw us... on the street, the other day, on our way back to the car.”

“I know,” she nods, dropping her gaze to her hands again, fearing to look at him lest she see the heartbreak she's feeling reflected in his gaze and fighting to maintain her self-control. “She told me. She said you warned her not to tell anyone, but she'd already told someone, just _one_ other person, Harry, who then probably only told one more and so on and so on. It's unfair to punish her for something everyone else is guilty of too. It's not as if she single-handedly told everyone on the Grid... And besides, I actually heard her doing it, telling John, though I had no idea she was talking about...” she swallows, unable to finish the sentence. “She wasn't mean or unkind. She was... respectful,” she adds quietly, lifting her eyes to his. “I don't want other people to suffer because of my... because of me, Harry.”

She sees him clench his jaw at her words before he turns away, carefully and slowly putting down his empty glass on his desk and picking up his mobile before turning to face her again. He looks angry and she thinks he's going to stride straight past her, but he seems to change his mind at the last minute, pausing in front of her and slightly to her right as he turns his head to look into her eyes and murmurs, “And what am I, Ruth? Am I not a person too?” his eyes dark pools of a pain so deep that she feels herself unable to breathe, drowning in their depths.

“Harry,” she whispers, her own eyes filling with tears.

But before she can reach out to him, he's walked past her, saying, “I hope she proves worthy of the trust you're placing in her.” And with that, he's gone.

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued interest in this story and for your wonderful reviews. They're really keeping me going as normally I lose interest in longer fics and abandon them in the middle (I know, my plan is to work on Earth, Sea and Sky next). I'd just like to say here that I'm using Harry's Diary as a reference point for the dates used, but there seems (to my mind) to be a bit of a discrepancy between the Diary and Episode 4.05. The episode appears to take two (at the most three) days until they know Woodring's behind it all, but Harry's diary indicates that Clive McTaggert's death occurred on the 7th of November, a Monday, and the whole situation was resolved by the 20th of November (though it might have been cleared up earlier but Harry was lax about writing it up in his diary). Given that Jo mentions it's Friday night when she warns those in the safe-house about the imminent attack, which would put the date at November 11th, the whole timeline doesn't really fit the way the episode was filmed (in my opinion). I have undoubtedly given this far too much thought, but the upshot of it all is that I'm using a combination of Harry's Diary and the information revealed in 4.05 to do what the heck I want because it's my story anyway (though I do acknowledge that I use some lines and the overall storyline of 4.05). Anyway, hopefully, it works, and you enjoy it. Cheers, S.C.

_Three days later – Monday, 7th November_

 

She doesn't understand him. No matter which way she looks at it, she cannot fathom him at all. On Friday he'd been heartbroken, angry and upset, biting people's heads off at the slightest provocation and shutting himself away in his office for hours, and when he'd said those words - “And what I am, Ruth? Am I not a person too?” - her heart had almost stopped at the anguish in his gaze, and it was only with an effort greater than she'd imagined possible that she'd managed to hold it together long enough to escape to the roof before she'd broken down completely. For the rest of the day, she'd somehow managed to keep it together, though she'd moved through it in a daze and still can't recall what exactly she'd accomplished, and at five o'clock sharp, she'd left to go home. The journey on the bus had been a wonderful relief, but though she'd been craving solitude all day long, once she'd entered her house and closed the front door behind her, she'd found the silence suddenly acutely oppressive. Thank God for Fidget, mindless TV, and wine as, without them, she'd never have got through the night.

She'd had the weekend off, and she'd spent it mostly moping around the house, torturing herself over her decision and the pain she's caused him, unable to find any kind of relief, even for a moment. When her mother had called as usual, she'd had to plead a headache and a sore throat to get out of talking to her despite her desperate need for advise and support. But she'd know that, this time, she couldn't confide in her mother or David because she'd have had to tell them everything to have any hope of them understanding her dilemma, and that really wasn't an option for so many different reasons. She'd briefly considered talking to Fiona who, after all, must have some idea of what she's going through, though she met and married Adam when he was just a field agent. But somehow, she hadn't been able to find the courage to open up to her, share her private affairs with a colleague again after what had happened when she'd confided in Sam.

So having suffered through another couple of restless days and nights, during which she'd consumed far too much alcohol, she'd expected to find Harry in a bad mood again today, but instead, she'd come into work to find him acting as if the last two weeks simply hadn't happened. He's his old, charming self again, treating her like he did before they'd, unexpectedly and quite wonderfully, become lovers, making her wonder what the hell has happened and breaking her heart all over again at the realisation that she must have been mistaken to think that he cared deeply for her, to think that he loved her. And to make matters worse, she's sure the others take his behaviour as a sign that everything's going well between them, that they're still together, Fiona's little smile at their disagreement over his use of the word brotherhood to describe their group this morning seemingly confirming this. She's utterly confused and heartbroken right now, unable to concentrate at all as she mulls things over, unable to figure out what's changed his mind so completely, or decide if he's a brilliant actor or just a heartless bastard after all. 


	30. Chapter 30

_1am that night – Tuesday, 8th November_

 

She can't sleep. Again. But this time it's not the nightmares that are keeping her awake, but the fact that she's in a strange house, a safe-house in fact, and an unfamiliar bed. And, of course, it doesn't help that there's no wine and that she keeps thinking of Harry, remembering the look he'd given her earlier today when she'd offered to join him for a drink to talk about his friend, Clive McTaggert, a look that had, for a split second, been full of surprise, pleasure and longing before he'd regained control of himself and politely declined, saying something about friends coming out of the woodwork. Why had he refused, she wonders for the millionth time, it seems. Initially she'd feared that perhaps it _was_ indifference, but then why that look of longing? Was it possible that she'd convinced him, she finds herself wondering, that she'd made him see how much of a liability their relationship would be to their work, their career, their security, and possibly even the country?

She'd thought he'd jump at the chance to talk to her alone, try to convince her to reconsider her decision to end it. In fact, that's partly why she'd made the offer, wanting, needing to talk to him, to talk to _someone_ about her choice, not sure any longer if she's doing the right thing, not sure about _anything_ in fact... except the strength of her love for him and how miserable she is without him. And she'd desperately needed to know if his feelings for her were ever as strong as she'd thought them to be. She'd asked him if Clive had been married and said something about him dying lonely and alone, hoping to see _something_ in his face, his gaze, his body-language that would tell her that he cares, that he loves her and had been hoping for more between them. But apart from a sad little smile, she'd got nothing.

Nothing.

Bloody spook with his iron self-control.

Whichever way she looks at it now though, she has to concede that she's too late, even though she's still not sure if she wants him back, with all the gossip and probable heartache that would entail. Could she learn to cope with it, she asks herself. Would it be worth it? Does she love him enough to try though they'll most probably fail? And what would she do if the worst came to the worst? She still doesn't know, but it appears that she no longer has the choice, the chance to find out. He'd turned her down, and later, when she'd called him from home after Gary had turned up (Gary Hicks of all people! Hadn't she been thinking about him just the other day?) he'd sounded so cautious and distant when she'd asked him to come over, so emotionally detached, and only when she'd mentioned Gary had she heard a note of something – disappointment perhaps – in his voice. And when he'd arrived and she'd seen his familiar silhouette through the front door, she'd almost broken down and had needed several moments to regain control of her emotions before she could open it, stepping back to wordlessly let him in, pushing aside the memory of his hot, impatient kisses that had greeted her every time he'd entered her home lately, the playful banter and warm smiles, the looks full of affection – she can't quite believe it was love now – and desire. How can they have gone from so _much_ to so little in just a few hours, she wonders bleakly, feeling tears gather in her eyes and slide silently down her cheeks.

She shakes her head in despair before she valiantly attempts to stop herself from dwelling on him any longer. It's over, she tells herself harshly, and you've only got yourself to blame... and besides, this is what you wanted. But despite this, the tears still fall until she wipes them roughly away. She's never going to fall asleep at this rate, she realises, so she gets up and moves over to the chair, searching through the side pocket of her holdall until she finds her prescription. Then she takes a sleeping pill, washing it down with some water from the glass she'd set on the bedside table earlier, and gets back in bed, closing her eyes and hoping for oblivion.


	31. Chapter 31

_Two days later – Thursday, 10th November_

 

It's been two days already and they're still no closer to finding who's behind Clive's death and after Gary's life. They've been working flat out on this and the lack of results is frustrating them all. Gary of course isn't helping at all with his tendency to rub people up the wrong way. He can be charming, of course, and quite lovely when he wants to be, she remembers, but he can also be a real arse when he's cooped up and can't get on with what he wants to be getting on with. He's been like that since she'd found him hiding out at her place, a bundle of nervous energy, smoking like a chimney and being generally irritating and unhelpful. Only Malcolm seems to be capable of maintaining his cool around him, and of course, Fiona, with whom he makes much more of an effort.

Harry looks ready to strangle him every time their paths cross, and she can't help wondering if it's, at least in part, because he's jealous, remembering what he'd said about John Fortescue just the other day. This morning, she'd been quite struck by how similar they actually are in appearance and had began to wonder if she has a type. Tall, brown, curly hair, brown eyes, intelligent, tenacious, great in bed and, of course, caring with a strong sense of justice and a desire to make a difference, though sadly Gary seems to have lost those qualities somewhere along the line. He used to write the most insightful articles, she remembers, thinking back to how he used to be when they'd first met, at a bookshop in Oxford. She'd been so timid and unsure of herself then, much more so than now, and she recalls feeling somewhat dazed when he'd asked her for her number and then called her later that day to ask her out. Their relationship had lasted several months, but it had ended badly between them, in the end, after she'd found out he'd cheated on her. She was just a source, he'd protested, and she'd meant nothing, which might have been true, but it hadn't made it hurt any less. She remembers yelling at him that the fact that he'd been pumping her, quite literary, for information didn't excuse his betrayal.

Men are such pricks, she thinks now as she turns to put the kettle on. 'Harry's not,' her inner voice protests, but she's not sure she agrees with that. He might not have cheated on her yet, but he's abandoned her instead. 'But isn't that what you wanted?' her inner voice asks again. Is it, she wonders, not for the first time. Certainly that's what she'd told him, but she's not really sure any more. Perhaps what she'd really wanted was for him to come after her, pull her into his arms, tell her everything will be all right, and declare his undying love for her. Cue music.

She sighs, dumping a tea bag in each of the four mugs on the counter before picking up the kettle to fill them with water. She has no idea what to do about Harry, so she's decided that she needs to wait until this operation is over and she's back home; it's just too difficult to sort it all out in her head in the midst of this upheaval. A little time and distance would probably be good anyway, and perhaps it'll help her gain some perspective. Certainly, it's getting easier to be in the same room as him without wanting to cry and the pain isn't as acute any more, but more like a constant, dull ache deep in her heart. She sighs, and after taking one of the mugs through to Steve who's on duty tonight, she returns to the kitchen to pick up the rest before heading next door.

“Thanks, Ruthie,” Gary smiles up at her as she hands him the mug. She used to like it when he called her that, she remembers, but now it does nothing for her. Now she longs to hear someone else's voice calling her name – Ruth, plain and ordinary but, from his lips, a gentle caress, something infinitely precious. She shakes her head to push the thought away; she wasn't going to think about him, she reminds herself sternly.

She hands Zaf his mug and takes a set in front of the telly, wondering why they're watching EastEnders but deciding against saying anything. Truthfully, she doesn't care what she watches. It's only to kill time anyway until she can go to sleep, hoping that tomorrow will bring a resolution and she can move back home again, to her things and her bed, and to Fidget. She's no idea where he is, and that worries her a little, but after finding out from Malcolm that 'Harry's taken care of it', she hasn't dared broach the subject with him. In fact, she's been doing her best to avoid Harry, trying to confirm the rumour she'd tried to spread through Amanda and John that Amanda had been mistaken.

“Look, both of you,” she'd told them on Tuesday in exasperation, “I know what you saw, Amanda... between me and Harry, and I realise that it must have looked... intimate, but the truth is that Harry and I aren't together. We're just very good friends. He was just... being kind; he's been very supportive since... operation Blackwater and, I'll admit, I was very rattled by the experience and he's been a tremendous help to me. So please, I wish you would stop walking on eggshells around me. I'm not his informant and I certainly don't share with him anything more than what he really needs to know as Head of Section. He has enough things to worry about without knowing all the details of what's going on around here every second of every day.” And it actually seems to have helped somewhat to confront them about it as they've stopped being quite so careful and are much more relaxed around her, though not as relaxed as they used to be. But as to whether anyone will believe that she and Harry aren't an item after all, she doesn't know. In truth, the damage is already done and she's come to realised that nothing she says or does is going to change that. People will believe what they want to believe, regardless of the truth.

It had been her therapist, Peter Olsen, who'd made her see that. She'd had an appointment with him yesterday and she'd been amazed by how much he'd helped put everything into perspective. He'd challenged all her assumptions, asking question after question and almost making her yell at him in frustration, but he'd been right about many things. Why had she assumed, for instance, that new recruits would think less of Harry if he was in a relationship with her? Nobody had thought less of Adam or Fiona when Fiona had joined the team because they were already in a long-term, committed relationship with each other. If she and Harry made it that far, no one would think anything of them working together. Junior officers might not confide in her as much, but the longer she stays in MI-5, the more senior she becomes, and the less likely junior officers are to confide in her anyway. She's getting four new desk officers by the end of the month, and as much as she doesn't really like being in charge, it's something she has to do and get used to, and being with Harry or not has no baring on it at all.

She signs, pushing thoughts of her and Harry aside again and turning to look at her companions. Zaf's head is bent forward at an angle that suggests he's either dozing or very soon will be. She smiles fondly at him. Poor Zaf – he's had a rough time of it with Gary. At least he'll be spending the night at home tonight, she thinks, remembering that Adam will be relieving him shortly. She hates that she has to stay here, at the safe-house, her need for protection interfering with her colleagues' lives. She's always hated inconveniencing others and being dependent on them. Perhaps _that's_ the real reason behind her decision to end it with Harry, she muses before she curtails that train of thought crossly; she wasn't going to think about him. She turns her attention to Gary who's being suspiciously quiet, tucked away in the corner, seemingly watching the telly, but probably working on his story and looking for a way to outwit them all so he can get it published. She'd forgotten how pig-headed he can be at times... another thing he has in common with Harry. Even their bloody names rhyme, she thinks ruefully. But Harry is so much _more_ than Gary ever will be. To her, he is everything. 


	32. Chapter 32

_The following night – Friday, 11th November_

 

She stares at the spring roll for a moment, thinking of the last time she'd had one with Harry when everything had been so new and wonderful between them, and suddenly she doesn't fancy it any more. Everything seems to remind her of him, the scent of the Imperial Leather soap in the bathroom, the English Breakfast tea bags in the kitchen, every love song on the radio, and even the bloody food. She sighs as she puts the spring roll back and digs into her food, thinking about their conversation earlier, before she'd left the Grid, when he'd seemed so worried about her.

“It's not just about Clive's murder... or about the book,” he'd said, his eyes betraying his concern for her safety, and she'd thought, in that moment, that she'd glimpsed a little of that something, that she used to think was love, in his gaze. And that was the first time she'd realised that Harry believes her to be in real danger, and it had shaken her to the core. She'd promised to call him and she had, the moment she'd arrived at the safe-house, but they'd both been painfully reserved and tongue-tied, the ease of their past exchanges gone to be replaced by awkwardness and long moments of uncomfortable silence. The phone call had been brief, but she's been unable to recover from it, a shroud of deep sadness settling over her, making her feel depressed and on the edge of tears all the time.

She wishes she could be alone right now, so that she wouldn't have to hold it together but could have a good cry instead and feel sorry for herself in peace. But perhaps it's better that she can't let herself fall apart because, unless she's prepared to fight for them and put up with an awful lot of unpleasantness at work – something she's still not sure she's brave enough to do – she's going to have to get over him _sometime_ and she might as well start now.

Gary walks into the room just then and takes a seat beside her, interrupting her depressing thoughts. He doesn't say anything and neither does she, simply lifting the take-away container with the spring rolls towards him, silently offering him one. He takes one and they both resume eating while they listen to the TV blaring in the next room. Nobody's actually watching the reality show that's currently on, but it serves its purpose of providing some background noise and conversation, so they don't actually have to speak to each other. They're all getting a bit fed up with each other's company and the atmosphere in the safe-house is tense and irritating, particularly between her and Gary as they're the ones who've had to remain here all night, every night. It makes her wonder how she ever managed to date the man; he really is the most trying and inconsiderate house-mate. She doesn't remember him being _this_ bad when they were together, but he was younger in those days and was probably not as set in his ways as he is now, though now she thinks about it, she does remember him being rather messy and chaotic, though he always made an effort to clean up a little whenever she stayed over at his place which, it must be said, was a very rare occurrence.

They'd never lived together, thank God, or they might have ended up killing each other, she thinks with a grim smile which promptly slips away as she finds herself thinking of Harry again and what their life might be like if they ever shared a home. She'd probably drive him mad with her tendency to leave things lying around because, though not as bad as some, she's nowhere near as tidy as he is; he'd most likely be forever complaining or tidying up after her. That is until she'd distract him with a few kisses and caresses, and then everything would be perfect again as their passion would take over and they'd get lost in it and each other. It's been the most surprising thing about him, discovering how much he loves and craves physical contact. She would never have guessed how affectionate he can be from his demeanour at work, and it's one of the things she's come to love most about him. God, how she misses him!

The sound of a car alarm, makes her lift her head and glance at Zaf, who puts down his paper and moves to the window, pulling the curtain aside a little to peer into the darkness. A second car alarm goes off and suddenly she's terribly afraid. “Get him down. Now!” Zaf commands, knocking over the lamp and swiftly flicking off the light switch so that the room is plunged into darkness. And that's when the shooting starts.

Most of what happens next is a blur, the adrenaline, the limited field training she's had, and her survival instinct all kicking in to somehow get her and Gary out of harms way behind the sofa while Steve and Zaf exchange fire with their assailants. When asked later, during her debriefing, what happened next, all she can recall of those few seconds as she crouched behind the settee with Gary, her heart in her mouth and her body shaking with fear, is a fervent wish that Harry was there with her instead. She would have given anything to have him beside her in that moment, holding her in his arms and kissing away her fear, protecting her as he had done on the yacht just a few weeks ago. And though part of her, the fiercely independent, feminist part, baulks at the idea of needing a man to protect her, another part of her knows that there is something infinitely precious in having someone like that in her life, someone she can trust and rely on completely and with whom, together, they can build a relationship that makes them both stronger, strong enough to face anything.

Her parents had had that, she recalls, and she has one particular, vivid memory of them together when she'd been about nine and had crept back downstairs to get a drink of water long after she should have been asleep. The kitchen door had been slightly ajar and she'd paused there unseen, not wanting to get into trouble for being up so late, and through the gap, she'd seen them standing close together, her father speaking lowly, telling her mum about the patient he'd just lost – a little boy of five, she remembers. They hadn't normally been overly affectionate with each other in her presence, so she'd been struck by the intimacy between them in that moment, how close they'd seemed though they were barely touching and how her mother had been able to lend her father strength at that difficult time. It had also been the first and only time she'd seen her father cry. Her mother had comforted him in the same way she used to comfort her when she'd been hurt, wrapping her arms around him and rocking him gently from side to side as he rested his forehead on her shoulder while she stroked the back of his head and neck with one hand and rubbed his back in soothing circles with the other. She'd stood there watching for what had seemed like hours, mesmerised by it all until her father had finally lifted his head and brushed away his tears. Then he'd smiled into her mother's eyes and thanked her, telling her that he loves her and kissing her lips, gently at first and then more firmly, until they were clinging to each other and snogging with an urgency and passion that had shocked her out of her stupor and had sent her scurrying back to bed.

Needless to say, she didn't share any of these thoughts or recollections during her debriefing. 


	33. Chapter 33

_Later that night_

 

Outwardly she's calm and collected, but inside everything's in turmoil, and it isn't until she steps onto the Grid and finds Harry there, solid and strong, his eyes warm and reassuring that she feels everything begin to right itself inside. Harry – her anchor, her centre, her calm oasis in the storm raging all around her. “All right?” he asks gently, leaning in towards her, his hand lifting from his side as if to touch her.

“Yes,” she whispers, dropping her gaze from his, scared that they'll all be able to see how much she wants him to hold her tightly and never let her go. She's never felt such a strong desire to fling herself into someone's arms before and it takes all of her self-control to keep her feet firmly rooted to the floor.

She sees him drop his hand back to his side at her reaction and turn his body slightly to his left, saying, “Zaf?” and she can't help the mixture of relief and disappointment that bubbles up inside her as he turns away and she hears Zaf confirm that he's fine too. Why does everything have to be so complicated, she finds herself wondering. Why can't her life be simple and straight-forward for a change?

“Ruth,” Fiona's voice brings her back to her surroundings, “do you feel up to telling me what happened?”

She lifts her eyes to Fiona's and nods slowly, grateful for the gentleness and compassion in her gaze. “Use my office,” Harry murmurs, catching Fiona's eye before turning away to follow Adam and Malcolm towards the technical suite where the latter will attempt to trace Joanna Portman's phone.

“Zaf, you're with us,” Adam calls as he turns away, and she sees Zaf eagerly follow him out of the room, clearly pleased to have avoided the debriefing she's getting for now.

She watches them go for a moment, keenly feeling the loss of Harry's reassuring presence, before she turns to follow Fiona into his office. Normally, she knows, there would be two senior officers present for a debriefing, but tonight all the other members of the team are busy, so Fiona has to make do with a junior officer instead. Ruth's somewhat relieved to see that she's picked Amanda for the task; she likes Amanda and they get along well.

It doesn't take long for them to go through the events of this evening. Fiona spends some time probing her with questions about the tracker they found on her coat, and seems pleased to hear that she hadn't left it unattended anywhere except in the cloak room of Thames House. “I don't always use it,” she confesses crossly, her frustration and upset at being the one who was bugged getting the better of her. “I usually leave my coat at my desk. I wish I'd done that yesterday.”

“It's all right, Ruth,” Fiona reassures her quickly. “In a way, it's good. It means we probably have CCTV footage of at least one of them that we can run against the sketch Malcolm got from Hicks. We should be able to identify him.”

“I hope so,” she sighs, feeling a little better about it.

“Well, that's it for now,” Fiona smiles, but before she can say more, the door slides open and Harry enters his office, carrying a mug of steaming tea. Fiona gets up, saying, “We're done, Harry. Thanks for letting us use your office.”

He nods and walks towards his desk as Fiona moves towards the door, closely followed by Amanda who looks a little jumpy and scared to find herself in the same room as him. Poor Amanda, Ruth thinks as she follows them towards the door, it'll take her ages to get over the bollocking Harry must have given her. She's still not sure what he said to her exactly, but she can imagine how harsh he must have been, given that he'd asked her to keep the information to herself and she hadn't. He can be cutting and quite brutal with his words, and he hadn't known, at the time, that the leak had happened before he'd warned her to keep her mouth shut. Not that that would have made much of a difference, she realises now; Harry would have expected her to have enough sense to not spread rumours about her bosses without needing to be warned about it beforehand.

She's almost at the door when Harry saying her name causes her to pause and turn towards him. “A word please,” he says, lifting his eyes to hers. The others don't wait to hear more but continue out of the room, Fiona sliding the door closed behind her.

She takes a few steps back towards him and sits down in the chair he indicates, leaving the desk between them. She's found it quite difficult to know how to act around him when they're alone lately, imagining that the others out there on the Grid are watching their every move and discussing them in low voices, but right now she doesn't seem to have the energy to worry about all that. Let them watch if they want to, she thinks bleakly; there's really nothing to see any more.

He looks tired and dishevelled, and she finds herself longing to reach out to him, kiss his sensual lips, sit on his lap, and run her hands over his rough stubble and through his soft hair. He smiles softly at her and slides the mug of tea across the desk towards her. “Here,” he says, “drink this.”

She hesitates, dropping her eyes to the pale blue mug that, she's surprised to find, isn't his, but one of the extra ones someone must have left behind on the Grid ages ago. “Thank you, but I'm fine, Harry,” she murmurs as she briefly wonders who the mug belonged to and why it was left behind.

“Take it, Ruth,” he insists. “Please. I made it for you.” Her eyes dart up to his in surprise at that, and she sees him smile, his gaze softening. “You've had a terrible shock. Drink it. It's only sweet tea. I promise I haven't poisoned it.” Then seeing her still hesitate, he adds, “Look, I'll taste it first, just to prove it's safe.” His eyes twinkle at her as he lifts the mug to his lips and takes a large gulp of tea, and it reminds her of the joke she'd made the other day when he'd mentioned his less than stellar culinary skills, and suddenly, she feels tears spring to her eyes.

She looks away, blinking rapidly, trying desperately to get her emotions under control. God, she's made such a mess of everything, she realises, but before she can dwell on it, she feels him press the hot mug into her hand, murmuring, “Come on, Ruth. It'll do you good.” So she nods, wraps both hands around the mug, and brings it to her lips, gratefully sipping the hot liquid and feeling its warmth slide down her throat, loosening the lump that's lodged there and spreading its warmth into her insides. She takes another sip, greedily drinking more until the mug is empty and feeling much better for it. Then she lowers it back down to his desk, lifting her eyes to his as she murmurs her thanks. “It's my pleasure, Ruth,” he replies, his eyes still gentle and warm as they scan her face over and over again as if he's seeking to reassure himself that she's really here. And that's when she realises that he must have been really quite worried about her when he heard what happened at the safe-house, and she feels her heart lift with hope.

“Did you really make it for me?” she asks softly, feeling that this small detail's incredibly important all of a sudden.

“I did,” he smiles.

“Thanks you,” she whispers, feeling tears well up and begin to slide down her cheeks as she drops her gaze and lifts her right hand to swiftly wipe them away. “That's very kind of you, Harry... though I'm sure I don't deserve it.”

He's silent for a moment before he reaches across the desk and takes her left hand between his, gently squeezing it as he says, “Of course you do, Ruth... And besides, you know I care about you. That hasn't changed... Nothing will change that.”

“But I've hurt you,” she objects, utterly confused by this, by his ability to apparently forgive her though she's been so unforgivably hurtful. She's never met a man who could do that before, not one who isn't needy by nature. “By rights, you should hate me.”

“I think I've told you before, Ruth,” he smiles, “that I could never hate you.”

He's still holding her hand and staring into her eyes, his gaze intense and open, waiting for her response, when his phone rings. She starts at the sound, and suddenly remembering where they are, she attempts to remove her hand from his grasp, but he doesn't let her. Without taking his eyes off her, he reaches one hand over to lift the receiver, bringing it to his ear, while his other hand tightens its grip on hers. “Yes,” he says, pausing to listen for a moment before he adds, “I'll be right there.” Then he puts the phone down and leans in towards her, murmuring, “I've been wrong to ignore what's happened between us, Ruth. We need to talk about it. Don't you agree?” He pauses, watching her intently until she nods her head. He's right; they do need to talk, no matter whether they decide to give themselves another change, or end it once and for all. “Good,” he says softly. Then he pauses for a moment more before he reluctantly adds, “Now, however, is not the time for that. We need to deal with this threat first and get you safely back home. Malcolm's found something,” and she can see his whole face change as he lets go of her hand and shifts back into work mode. 


	34. Chapter 34

_Much later that night_

 

Yet another safe-house, yet another strange bed, and yet another sleepless night. She sighs, wondering desperately when they're finally going to find out who are the bastards behind this. It had been so frustrating to find that the call authorising the hit on Gary – and her, and Zaf, and poor Steve, who's in hospital now, recovering from surgery because of these bastards – had come from the Defence Intelligence Staff Ops Centre and then to not be able to get any further, to hit yet another brick wall. It's been like that throughout this operation, discovering something only to be brought up short seconds later by another unknown factor, another missing link. Luckily Zaf had winged one of their assailants, so hopefully they'll be a DNA match in the morning, but if this is a black op, which seems very likely at the moment, she's not hopeful that they'll get one. The CCTV footage of the cloak room at Thames House has already proved useless as the man they suspect planted the tracker knew exactly where the cameras were hidden and managed to avoid getting his face captured on any of them.

Of course, this is really no different to numerous other operations they've conducted, but it's so much harder to cope with it somehow, now that she's personally involved and it's affecting _her_ life. She misses her home and her cat, and she misses Harry, desperately misses him. His kindness to her earlier and her recent brush with death have shaken her and made her seriously reconsider her decision to end it. Yet she knows that giving their relationship another chance is not a decision to be made lightly and it requires some serious thought and true commitment from both of them, and that's something that she's in no position to do now while she's in hiding and her life is under threat.

She sighs as she swings her legs out of bed, sliding her feet into her slippers and her dressing gown onto her shoulders. She's going to have to take another sleeping pill tonight despite her resolution not to. She's a little worried she might get dependent on them; she's used them almost every night this week.

Quietly, so as not to disturb anyone, she makes her way across the landing and down the stairs, feeling her way along the darkened hall towards the kitchen to get some water. She usually keeps a glass by her bed, but she'd forgotten to get one earlier tonight, understandable after the events of the last few hours. As she approaches the kitchen door, however, she hears voices within, so she pauses, listening hard to identify who's there.

“And Wes?” Adam's saying.

“Sound asleep,” Fiona replies. “You know how good your mother is with him. I've been trying to convince her to stay a few more days, but I think I'm failing.” Of course! She remembers now; Fiona was going to take Adam's place tonight so he can get some much needed rest.

“She'll be wanting to get back to 'Darling' Livvy,” she hears Adam sigh, wondering who Livvy is before she remembers Adam has a younger sister called Olivia. “You know what she's like and Livvy will milk it for all it's worth. She always has, spoilt little brat that she is.” His voice betrays a certain amount of exasperation and affection for his sibling, as well as a tinge of jealousy. Olivia's the baby of the family and the only girl, she remembers, and was probably adored by all and spoilt rotten as a result, she concludes from his tone.

“I'm just grateful she wasn't like that with _me_ when _I_ was pregnant,” Fiona laughs warmly. “Still, it's a shame we've missed all these lovely chances for a date night while she's been here.” She feels a pang of guilt for ruining Adam and Fiona's plans for this evening and, it seems, every other one this week, wishing this whole situation would resolve itself soon so that everyone can go back to their lives and families, including her. She'll offer to babysit for them one night, she decides quickly, to make up for the inconvenience she's caused them.

“It can't be helped,” Adam replies. “They'll be other opportunities for us.”

“How about now?” Fiona purrs then, making Ruth blush and begin to turn away from the door, torn between running upstairs as fast as she can and moving slowly so as not to make a sound.

“Not here,” Adam objects, flooding her with relief. “Anyone could walk in.”

“Makes it all the more thrilling, don't you think?” she hears Fiona murmur and then laugh softly.

“It's not funny, Fi,” Adam replies, sounding a little cross. Clearly he's not in the mood to be teased. “Anyway, I'd best go home and get some shut eye. I'm knackered... Keep an eye on Ruth, won't you?” The sound of her name has Ruth pausing and then slowly creeping back to the kitchen door so she can hear more. “I promised Harry we would.”

“Of course,” Fiona murmurs. “Poor Ruth. It all seems to be happening to her at the moment. How's Harry coping do you think?”

“I don't know,” she hears Adam reply. “I've never seen him react like that before. When the call came through from Zaf, I was in his office, and the moment he realised something had happened at the safe-house, he turned as white as a sheet. I thought he was about to pass out... I really think he's in love with her.” Poor Harry, she thinks, imagining his reaction as Adam describes it and finding her heart begin to beat faster at his last words. Could it be true? Could Harry really be in love with her?

“Of course he's in love with her,” Fiona states flatly, sounding a little exasperated. “Why else would he be dating a junior officer?”

“Well,” Adam begins, but Fiona won't let him finish that thought.

“You don't believe that, Adam,” she objects. “Harry's not like that and neither is Ruth. They both have too much respect for each other. And if you and Zaf hadn't been so childish about the whole thing, they might have had a real chance at it. Now you've spooked her, poor girl, and she's lost the one thing she's had to smile about lately.” She feels a stab of pain in her heart as she realises the truth of Fiona's last words. Harry _was_ the only thing she's had to smile about in a very long time.

“I was happy for them,” Adam protests. “We've all been happy for them.”

“Yes, but you failed to see how delicate the situation was, Adam,” Fiona replies, sounding cross. “Women always have to bear the brunt of the gossip in cases such as this. Harry just gets an approving pat on the back for his sexual prowess, not to mention every other man's envy, while poor Ruth gets branded a slut who'll sleep with anyone to advance her career. Then she'll have to deal with years of sexual harassment by every warm-blooded male in a higher position in the service because they'll all think she's up for it.” She feels herself blush as she listens to Fiona's blunt description of some of her worst fears, but at the same time, she's relieved to hear her put a voice to one of the things that's been troubling her so much lately, feeling grateful beyond words to hear her confirm that she's not being utterly unreasonable or unduly paranoid to be worrying about it.

“That's-” Adam attempts to interrupt, but fails.

“Oh, I know _you_ and a handful of others don't think like that,” she clarifies quickly, “but that's the reality of it for a lot of women, Adam, and that's what Ruth's scared of. It's no wonder she's ended it.”

“She has? How do you know?” Adam asks, and he sounds surprised.

“Because they're both miserable,” Fiona explains, and she can't help admiring her in that moment as she realises again how good a spy she is. “Haven't you seen their long faces?”

She hears Adam sigh and then murmur, “I don't understand it. _You_ didn't care what people thought when we started seeing each other. What does it matter what people like that think? They're a bunch of knobheads whose opinion's worth fuck all. And in any case, Harry would never allow anyone to harm or mistreat Ruth, and he has enough on most of these wankers to make them think twice before pissing him off.” She hadn't thought about that, she realises. Would Harry know how to shut people up?

“Everyone's different,” Fiona replies with what sounds like a shrug. “He's much older than her and she probably feels a little out of her depth with him being so much higher up in the service. She's really quite shy and she's suddenly going to be noticed by a whole lot of very powerful people. I mean, imagine her having to be his plus one at all those official functions he attends, rubbing shoulders with the Home Secretary or the PM, not to mention that slime ball Mace.” God! She hadn't even thought of that!

“ _You'd_ enjoy it,” Adam smiles.

“I would,” Fiona laughs, “but not everyone can be as perfect as me. You don't know how lucky you are, Adam Carter.”

“Oh, I assure you, I do,” he murmurs huskily and she's sure he's leaning in to kiss her. She begins to pull away from the door, feeling suddenly embarrassed to be eaves dropping on their conversation, but she's not got very far before she hears Adam say, “So what can we do to help them get themselves sorted?” She pauses listening hard.

“Nothing,” Fiona sighs. “Just hope that they _do_ work things out and then act normally around them when they do.” She hears someone yawn loudly then and thinks it must be Adam, and sure enough, Fiona's next words confirm it. “Oh, am I boring you?”

“No,” he replies, “Sorry. I'm just bloody exhausted,” and realising that Adam will likely be leaving soon and will probably bump straight into her if she stays here, she walks quietly back upstairs, her mind full of all she's heard, her heart beating fast. Could Fiona be right? Is Harry really in love with her? She casts her mind back over all the times they've spent together, all their conversation, all their kisses and cuddles, all their love making and realises that he really must be. She'd thought, hoped he was at the time, and when she remembers how nervous he'd seemed on occasion, when she'd thought he might say the words, she can't help but think that she's seriously and quite wilfully misjudged him.

She's been so frightened of being hurt that she hasn't been able to truly trust him and see him for who he really is, to see how much he cares for her. Poor Harry. He'd been so cautious and gentle with her, probably fearing she'd pull away, and even after she'd _told_ him that she was sure she wanted to be with him, had convinced him to let their relationship become physical again, and they'd become so intimate, she'd broken his heart. No wonder he'd pulled away after that. He probably doesn't believe that she's capable of commitment, and perhaps, he even doubts her love. After all, what she'd done had been cruel, ending it like that over something that must seem so trivial to someone like him, someone who's confident in himself and couldn't care less what anyone thinks of him, and without even allowing him any say in the matter. He probably believes that she's just been using him, she realises with a pang of deep pain and regret.

She tosses and turns all night, thinking things over, realising how wrong she's been and that she really _does_ have some issues around men and commitment that she needs to sort out. Perhaps she'll talk to Peter about it, she finally decides, and then she can talk to Harry, apologise to him, explain as best she can, and ask for another chance because now, suddenly, she's sure that she needs him and she wants him; she wants him to be hers, whatever the risks, whatever the cost, whatever the consequences, whatever it takes, because she knows now that she'll never love another man like she loves Harry Pearce. And after she reaches this conclusion and she has a plan of action, she feels calmer than she has done in ages and is able to finally fall asleep.


	35. Chapter 35

_A few days later – Thursday, 17th November_

 

She sits down with a sigh and lifts her glass to her lips, taking a generous swig of wine and swallowing it in relief. She doesn't know how she's managed to survive the last few days away from home. It's enough to drive anyone mad, living in a safe-house with your irritating ex-boyfriend and two of your colleagues, most of them men, and she hopes that she never, _ever_ has to experience anything like itagain.

When they'd finally figured out that Roy Woodring was behind everything and Harry had confronted him, it had seemed like the worst of it was over and that she could finally go home, but Harry had insisted that the threat be neutralised completely before her life could return to normal. She'd fought against it, of course, yelling at him in anger and frustration late on Sunday night, the disappointment of not being able to go home getting the better of her as she'd stormed out of his office in disgust, seething at his high-handedness when he'd finally _ordered_ her to comply and remain at the safe-house until he deemed it safe for her to return home.

Life in the safe-house had really become unbearable by this point, stuck as she was with bloody Gary and his immature behaviour and childish games, and though it had taken her no more than a few minutes, after she'd calmed down, to realise that Harry's angry determination and utter pig-headedness was coming from a place of deep love and fear for her safety, she'd still been unable to fully forgive him for quite a while, not until this afternoon really when Malcolm had finally completed the fake book and Harry had left to confront Juliet. Her own fear for his safety over what he was about to do had made her realise, in that moment, how stupid it was to remain angry with him for loving her enough to risk her wrath in order to keep her safe. As she'd surreptitiously watched him slip his coat on and take the book from Adam, hearing the latter express his misgivings over Harry's determination to go after Juliet, she'd felt so afraid for him that any remaining resentment towards him had evaporated, and she'd found herself deeply regretting not only ending their relationship, but also not fully enjoying every moment they'd spent in each other's company since and especially these last few days when they'd both been working late on the Grid, where she'd stayed as late a possible each night to avoid the safe-house.

Without hesitation then, she'd quickly moved over to the pods and waited for him there in the shadows, and as he'd passed by her hiding place on his way out, leather bound book in hand, his face set in an expression of grim determination, she'd whispered his name. He'd paused, taking a step towards her, his face unreadable, so grasping her courage with both hands, she'd stepped out into the light, and whispering softly, “Be careful, Harry,” she'd reached up and kissed his cheek before pulling away and squeezing his arm through the thick fabric of his coat. She smiles now as she remembers the look of utter surprise and wonder that had appeared on his face for just a moment before he'd regained control, smiled softly, and promised, “I will.” He'd held her gaze for long moments, she recalls, and for once in her life, she'd barely noticed anyone else around them or spared them a second thought. If she never saw Harry again, she remembers thinking, what did it matter what people thought of them? But, thankfully, he'd kept his word and had come out of his confrontation with Juliet not only unscathed, but also victorious, and she'd been able to leave the horrible safe-house and Gary behind and finally come home.

She'd left the Grid at five on the dot and had arrived home just over an hour ago, feeling so relieved to be here that she hadn't managed to do anything except climb the stairs and fall into bed, fully clothed. She'd lain there for what had seemed like hours, enjoying the peace and quiet and the relief that it was all over, before she'd began to realise that something was missing, and it had taken her a few moments longer to eventually figure out that it was Fidget; he hadn't come to greet her. She'd got up then and gone back downstairs, worrying about him as she searched all the rooms. When she'd failed to find him and had began to feel really quite anxious, she'd reminded herself that Harry had taken care of him and that he wouldn't have let anything bad happen to her cat; he actually likes Fidget. Plus she was sure that he remembered the conversation they'd had about their pets a little while ago, during which she'd mentioned what she does to take care of him and even mentioned the pet sitter she uses whenever she goes away for a few days. Perhaps her sitter hadn't been available and he'd taken him to the kennel she's had to use a few times in the past, she'd thought, seeing as she'd been away for more than a week now. She'd pulled out her phone then, but somehow she hadn't been able to face calling him now, even for Fidget. So she'd made her way into the kitchen, put the phone down on the counter, and set about getting something to eat. She hadn't been very hopeful when she'd opened the fridge in search of ingredients, but she'd been thrilled to discover that someone had stocked it full of everything she might possibly need, including a couple of bottles of expensive looking wine. Harry, she'd thought instantly, and before she could think twice, she'd grabbed her phone and dialled his number.

“Ruth,” he'd murmured in greeting, the sound of his voice lifting her heart.

“Was it you?” she'd blurted a little breathlessly before she could chicken out, holding her breath in hopeful anticipation.

“Was it me who did what?” he'd asked, sounding a little puzzled.

“Stocked my fridge with food,” she'd explained quickly, still feeling breathless.

“Oh that,” he'd answered, waiting a beat before murmuring, “Actually, it was Malcolm.”

“Malcolm!” she'd exclaimed in some surprise.

“Yes,” he'd confirmed. “When I sent him over to check your place for bugs that might have been planted during your absence, I asked him to... buy you a few essentials.”

“Essentials?” she'd laughed. “He's bought half of Sainsbury's by the looks of it.”

“Well, I did tell him to spare no expense,” he'd confessed softly, making her heart soar.

“Thank you, Harry,” she'd smiled, infusing her voice with as much warmth as possible, but before she could say anything more, he'd interrupted.

“Listen, Ruth,” he'd said quickly, “I was actually just about to ring you. I meant to offer you a lift home so we could pick up Fidget on our way, but you disappeared early on me. I have him now and I could drop him off in about an hour... if that suits you?”

“Yes,” she'd agreed readily. “That would be great. I've missed him.”

“I'll see you soon then,” he'd replied and hung up.

So she'd decided to cook for him, something quick and easy, but a warm meal all the same, partly in thanks for being so thoughtful and wonderful, and partly to apologise for hurting him. Now, as she sits waiting for him, she mentally plans what she'll say to him, hoping that he'll hear her out, forgive her, and give her another chance.

 


	36. Chapter 36

As she sees his silhouette through the door this time, she can't help but think back to the first time she'd let him in after they'd made love at Fred's, remembering the feelings of apprehension and excitement she'd experienced then and thinking how similar her emotions are now. This is her chance to make him see that she's ready to face the gossip, the looks, the whispers, and anything else that might come their way if he'll just give her one more chance.

“Hello,” she smiles as she opens the door, pulling back to let him in, determined not to feel awkward or embarrassed.

“Hi,” he murmurs, stepping through the door but remaining on the threshold, a contented looking bundle of grey fur in his arms.

“Fidget!” she exclaims happily as he lifts the cat towards her and she takes him in her arms, burying her face in his soft fur. “I've missed you.” Her cat meows and begins to purr loudly as she strokes him and steps back, looking up at Harry and saying, “Come in, Harry.”

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable, before he murmurs, “I think perhaps I'd better go.” Then, perhaps seeing the hurt and disappointment, that she's trying hard to mask, on her face or in her gaze, he adds swiftly, “We've both had a... gruelling day, fortnight really, and I'm sure you want to... rest, relax, and enjoy being home again tonight. I don't want to impose and now is really not the time for... late night tête-a-têtes between us.”

She nods in understanding, realising that he's not rejecting her, but rather, postponing their 'talk' about their future together. And she can understand that, how exhausted he must be after such a long and stressful operation and, after the way she's behaved recently, how unsure of her thoughts, feelings, and intentions. In his place, she'd want to be well rested too before embarking on a discussion of their relationship, but though she's perhaps equally sleep deprived, the relief of being back home has given her new energy and is making her want to put things right, to fix everything between them.

Even if she can't have that right now, however, she still finds that she wants his company tonight, so forcing herself to be brave, she replies softly, “You're probably right, but there's plenty of food, Harry, thanks to you and Malcolm, not to mention a rather good bottle of wine and I'd really like it if you joined me for supper. Of course, if you've eaten or are too tired, I understand, but if you haven't and you're not, I'd very much like it if you stayed a little while. You've done so much for me lately, Harry, that I feel it's the least I could do and I'd like to say thank you... We don't have to talk about anything much. Just spend some time together... as friends. The rest can wait until we're both feeling... up to solving it.”

She watches him as the seconds tick by, relieved to find that he's tempted by her offer and hasn't flatly refused her yet. His face is unreadable and she's no idea what he's thinking, but before she can ask him or he has a chance to reply, Fidget jumps down from her arms, pads over to Harry, wraps himself around his ankles once, and with a loud meow, heads off into the kitchen. “There, you see?” she smiles happily, “He wants you to stay too.”

“Then how can I refuse?” he murmurs with a small smile and steps into the house.


	37. Chapter 37

Their first topic of conversation is work, of course, particularly the operation they've just concluded. He's removed his coat, jacket and tie, and has rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and she finds that she can't take her eyes off him. How could she have even _considered_ letting him go, she wonders as she watches him speak, giving her the highlights of his conversation with Juliet this afternoon. The gentle movement of his sensual lips, the flashes of emotion in his gorgeous eyes, and the way he moves his hands as he speaks have her transfixed, so much so that, when he eventually pauses and looks at her, she has to swiftly drop her gaze to her plate and take a mouthful of food in order to give herself time to grasp the thread of their conversation, so distracted has she become.

“But what if she thinks you're really going to publish it, Harry?” she asks eventually with a worried frown as she realises what it is he's just said. “What if she decides you're as much of a threat as Clive?”

“She won't,” he shakes his head confidently.

“How can you be so sure?” she insists worriedly.

“It was Woodring who was behind the decision to kill Clive,” he replies. “Juliet wouldn't have done it, not without exhausting every other avenue first, and besides... she knows I wouldn't publish it. She can't be one hundred percent certain, of course, but she knows me well enough to think it highly unlikely that I'll carry out my threat... as long as she doesn't push me too far. It's easier for her to comply with my requests right now than to go after me, and I make a much better ally than Woodring in the long run. She knows all that and, though she'll never admit as much, I suspect she's relieved that I've given her the perfect excuse to get rid of Roy. Clive recruited her, you know.”

“I didn't know that,” she confesses, feeling a little relieved by this small detail that makes Juliet seem just a little bit more human all of a sudden.

He nods and then adds, “Anyway, there's a fundamental difference between Clive and me. He was retired and dying, so he had nothing to lose by publishing, whereas I'm, fortunately, not in that position just yet.”

She watches him take a sip of wine, amazed once again by his confidence, by how unflustered and unfazed he is in the face of danger, wishing that she were more like him and hoping to God that he's right about Juliet. “I hope you're right,” she murmurs softly, giving voice to her thoughts. He lifts his eyes to hers then, and as their gazes hold for a moment, he smiles at her gently, his eyes softening into pools of liquid gold. “What happens if she discovers you don't actually have the book? Surely Woodring's men got the original and destroyed it by now?” she asks in an effort to keep the conversation going before she gets completely lost in his eyes.

He smiles enigmatically then and his eyes twinkle at her as he takes another sip of wine before murmuring, “Who says I don't have the book?”

“But...” she objects and then pauses, thinking hard and watching his face as he gives her an innocent look that immediately arouses her suspicions. “How?” she asks and watches him watch her for a few moments longer. There's something in his gaze, a look of encouragement and expectation, and she realises that he's waiting, expecting her to figure it out. And suddenly, she knows the answer. “Clive,” she says, watching as his lips curl up in a smile of delighted pleasure and pride. “He sent you a copy?” she asks, feeling as pleased as punch to have worked it out and basking in his approval.

“It arrived this afternoon,” he confesses before turning back to his food. She follows his example and returns to eating, finishing up the food on her plate, the pleasure she's feeling making it hard for her to stop smiling.

“What are you going to do with it?” she asks eventually, once she's regained control over her temporary feelings of euphoria and is able to stop looking like the cat that got the cream.

“Keep it safe,” he replies, “and one day... Who knows?” She watches him for a few moments in silence as he turns back to his food and polishes off his plate. “That was delicious, Ruth. Thank you,” he sighs contentedly as he sets down his cutlery and leans back, lifting his eyes to hers.

“You'd never publish it, Harry,” she states, her mind still on the book, “no matter what you told Juliet or Gary this afternoon. You'd never do something like that to the Service. It's not who you are.”

“Perhaps,” he replies enigmatically, but his eyes are swimming with pleasure as he looks at her, no doubt touched by her faith in him, in the kind of man he is. “But I've been in this job long enough, Ruth, to know better than to ever say never. Sometimes, though rarely I'll grant you, the ends _do_ justify the means... in the world of espionage at least.”

“Perhaps,” she concedes with a smile, feeling too happy to argue. He holds her gaze for long moments before she feels self-conscious, and dropping her eyes to his plate, she says, “Would you like some more?”

“No, thank you,” he shakes his head. “It was delicious, but I couldn't manage another mouthful.”

“Not even dessert?” she asks playfully. “I've made a crumble... with custard?”

He groans and closes his eyes for a moment before he opens them again and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. “How did you know I love custard?” he asks as he narrows his eyes at her in mock suspicion.

“A wild guess,” she smiles and gets up to clear the table. He gets up too, intent on helping her with the clearing up, but she shakes her head at him and says, “Leave it, Harry. I'll take care of it. Rest.”

“I can't let you do all the work and sit around doing nothing,” he objects, picking up the two serving dishes that contain the remainder of the food and carrying them over to the counter by the sink.

“Yes, you can,” she smiles after she puts down the dirty dishes in the sink and turns to take the serving plates from his hands. “It's the least I can do, Harry,” she adds, looking up at him earnestly, “after everything you've done for me. Please. This is my way of saying thank you for being there for me when I needed a friend and for all you've done to protect me.”

His eyes search her gaze for a few moments before he murmurs softly, “All right. Just this once, mind, or you'll spoil me.”

“I'll jolly well try,” she replies with a blush and promptly turns away to put the food in the fridge and get started on the tea and custard. She can feel him standing close behind her for several moments in silence, and she can't help the way her whole body's practically humming with suppressed energy and nerves in anticipation of his next move. Much to her disappointment, however, he simply clears his throat and murmurs something about the bathroom before leaving the room.

When he comes back, he's thoughtful and more distant than before and they eat their dessert mostly in silence. She worries that she's pushed him too far, that he thinks she's trying to force him into a conversation he's not ready to have tonight, as he'd explained at the outset, and when she sees him pick up his mug of tea and drain it, she suddenly knows that he's preparing to leave.

“Thank you, Ruth,” he smiles as he sets down the cup. “It was wonderful. I appreciate the thought and the gesture very much.”

She nods her acknowledgement, all the while desperately casting around her mind for something to say to keep him here a little while longer. She can't use alcohol as an excuse; he's only had one glass of wine tonight, though she thinks she's had about three at least, and she knows he's been consciously keeping his alcohol intake low so he can drive home tonight. “Thanks for taking care of Fidget,” she blurts out eventually, her eyes having alighted on her cat as he slips into the room. “Where did you take him, by the way?”

Harry's eyes also drop to Fidget who's now standing in front of them, looking from one to the other for a few moments in quiet contemplation as if unsure of whom to choose. “Well, I left him here for the first few days and got your sitter, Megan, to come round, but she was going away for a long weekend and it looked like the situation wasn't going to get resolved as fast as I'd hoped, so I... took him home with me.”

“You took him to your place?” she asks in wonder, lifting her eyes sharply to his face. He nods, looking a little uncertain of himself all of a sudden and it warms her heart to see it. He looks adorable when he's not quite as confident as usual in situations like this. “But what about Scarlet?” she asks after a beat as Fidget springs onto her lap, having finally decided whom to favour with his company.

“Oh, you know her,” he smiles. “She adores company of any sort. When I brought him home, it took her all of three seconds to decide to make friends which, to her, means lick poor Fidget to death. Needless to say, he didn't like that. He scratched her muzzle, poor thing, and she looked so hurt and surprised to be treated in such a way.”

“Oh, poor Scarlet,” she murmurs in empathy; she loves Harry's dog so much already. “What did you do?”

“I had to keep them apart for a few days,” he shrugs. “I had one in the kitchen and the other with me, and then they'd switch places. Scarlet always sleeps in the kitchen anyway as it's warm in there and she can't get into trouble, and Fidget seemed to choose the top of the sideboard in the living room as his spot, so it was fine. He could always escape up there if he needed to. Then last night, Scarlet had fallen asleep by the fire when Fidget came down from the sideboard and just curled himself up between her front paws.” He smiles and shakes his head in bewilderment before adding softly, “So I just left them there together when I turned in.”

“And they were both alive this morning?” she asks playfully.

“Indeed,” he smiles, looking as pleased as she feels that their pets love each other too. “In fact,” he smiles ruefully, “you'll never guess where I found them.”

“Well,” she replies thoughtfully, “knowing Fidget, unless you remembered to close your bedroom door, probably on your bed, or on your face if you were really unlucky.”

He nods, his smile broadening as he acknowledges, “Right first time, Ms Evershed. I shouldn't have doubted you. Scarlet was lying on top of the covers, pressed against the back of my legs, and Fidget had curled up on one of the pillows.” Then he drops his gaze to his hands as he adds softly, “I suspect he could still smell you on it.” And he looks so adorably uncertain of himself again and so absolutely lovable that her heart overflows with emotion and she feels tears spring to her eyes. Say it, she dares herself; just say the words. Three little words. How hard can it be?

“I love you,” she whispers softly, so softly that if he hadn't been anxiously waiting for her response he might have missed it. He doesn't miss it, however. Far from it. And when he lifts his eyes to look at her, there is the same expression of surprise and wonder in them as she'd seen before, when she'd kissed his cheek on the Grid. She blushes and drops her gaze to her hands that are nervously stroking Fidget as she adds quickly, “And I know that doesn't make up for everything I've said and done to hurt you lately, and that it doesn't magically solve everything between us. I'm not naïve enough to think that, and I know you didn't want to talk about it tonight. I understand, after everything's that happened, but it's how I feel, how I've felt about you for a long time, and I thought you should know. And I know you must think I'm a complete nut-case after the way I've been all over the shop lately, and I _am_ terribly insecure and unsure of myself and so scared of being hurt that I don't open up easily, or at all if I can help it, but I've never felt this way before and I don't...” her voice cracks here and she has to clear her throat before she can continue, “I don't want to lose you... And I know that sounds... insane after _I_ was the one who-”

“Ruth,” he interrupts softly.

She swallows and takes a deep shaky breath before she whispers, “Yes?” But he doesn't say anything more, and as she waits for him to speak, slowly stroking her cat to sooth her own nerves, she finds all her efforts futile until, eventually, she can bear it no more and she has to look at him.

“I love you too,” he smiles softly as their eyes meet. Slowly, he reaches across the table for her hand, which she lifts from the cat and stretches out towards him, feeling tears begin to gather behind her eyelids and a lump lodge itself in her throat. “I love you too, my Ruth,” he repeats softly as he grasps her hand tightly in his. 


	38. Chapter 38

She's lying on the sofa, covered by a warm blanket with Fidget curled up by her side, Tom Barabas playing softly in the background, and the sound of Harry making tea coming from the kitchen. It's such a wonderful, comforting, domestic sound that she finds herself getting lost in a fantasy of the two of them living together, imagining that Harry brings her tea every night after dinner before they climb the stairs to bed together, until her daydreams are interrupted by the sound of him gently putting the tray down on the coffee table. She opens her eyes to find him smiling at her as he straightens up, saying, “Oh, good. You're awake. I thought I might have to carry you up to bed again and I'm not at all sure I could manage that a second time.”

She blushes at his teasing remark and is tempted to make one of her own, but she can't quite bring herself to do so in the present circumstances. They've made huge progress by admitting their love for each other, but they're not out of the woods yet and still have many things left to sort out between them. So she just smiles, arching her back and stretching her arms up over her head before she sits up, disturbing Fidget who gives her an indignant look before jumping onto the armchair instead, turning his back on her, and proceeding to groom himself. “Sorry, Fidget,” she says before turning her eyes on Harry again.

He's still standing by the coffee table, watching her, so she smiles and pats the spot beside her, and she's pleased to see the answering smile on his lips as he moves to take a seat next to her. His arm stretches along the back of the sofa, so she takes this as an invitation to lean against his side, resting her head on his shoulder as she wraps her arms around him. “I'm sorry about earlier,” she whispers against his chest, feeling his arm wrap around her shoulders and squeeze her gently against him. “I really don't mean to keep falling apart on you like that,” she adds, blushing at the memory of her earlier tears that she'd been unable to hold back when she'd heard him utter the words she'd been hoping to hear for so long.

“Don't be,” he murmurs huskily. “You've been under a lot of strain lately, and besides, I've got good shoulders for crying on – broad, strong, and very well padded.”

She laughs at that and lifts her face to look at him. “I've missed you so much, Harry,” she says.

“And I you, my Ruth,” he sighs, lifting his right hand to cup her cheek and caressing her cheekbone with his thumb as she leans into his touch. “Ruth,” he murmurs softly, “I know it won't always be easy and there are many things we need to discuss and sort out between us, but if you want this... _us_ , even half as much as I do, I _know_ we can make it work and we can be very happy together.”

She nods and smiles up at him, relieved and so happy to hear him say that. “I'm sorry I panicked and ran,” she says. “It's a terrible habit I have when things get too much for me and I know I need to work on that if we're to make this work. I was scared because... I thought that perhaps you weren't all that serious about me, that your feelings weren't as... deep, as strong as mine. And if that were the case, I'd be risking everything on something that you weren't as invested in as I am and might end at any moment. I have all my eggs in one basket, so to speak, and if I'm honest, that still terrifies me a little.” He watches her in silence for a few moments, and she feels her cheeks heat up under his scrutiny and she has to drop her gaze to her lap where her hands begin toying with the ends of the blanket. It isn't easy for her to be so open and honest about her feelings and fears, but she knows she has to try if they're to have any hope of surviving long term as a couple.

“I have loved deeply just five women in my life, Ruth,” he replies eventually, pulling back a little so he can turn his body towards her and grasp her hands in his to still them. His touch is warm and brings her comfort even as his words make her heart race and her eyes lift to his. “One was my grandmother, one my mother, and one is my daughter, Catherine. I married the fourth, the mother of my children, Jane, and you are the fifth, Ruth.” She feels tears spring to her eyes at his quiet declaration. There are so many degrees of love, as she well knows, and to be placed on such a short list alongside such important women in his life touches her so deeply that she's unable to speak for a long time.

He watches her, squeezing her hands with his own and offering her a small, almost smile and such an open, tender look that she can't help protesting, “Oh, Harry, I feel so terrible for what I've put you through,” as she desperately blinks back the tears and drops her gaze from his.

“It's all right, Ruth,” he smiles, squeezing her hands again.

“It's not all right, Harry,” she objects, lifting her eyes to his again. “I got you to trust me and then I broke your heart. It's inexcusable and cruel. I don't know how you can forgive me.”

“Well, I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't changed your mind about us,” he murmurs, “but so long as you don't do it again...” he tails off, giving her a little, half smile again and a shrug of his shoulders that's such an adorable gesture, it makes her smile in spite of her guilt.

“I won't,” she replies earnestly. “I promise, Harry.”

“Even if it's all anyone can talk about at work for weeks on end?” he asks gently, and though she sees him try, he can't quite mask how invested he is in her answer.

“Even then,” she murmurs, swallowing uncomfortably and dropping her gaze to their joined hands. “I mean, I'm not saying I'll enjoy it. I'll hate every moment of it, but if I ever reach a point where I can't stand it any more, I'd rather leave section D for a while than leave you again.” She lifts her eyes to his and is amazed by the openness and emotion she sees in his gaze.

“Thank you,” he whispers softly.

“I love you, Harry,” she murmurs, surprised at how much easier it is to say it the second time round and wondering briefly if it'll soon seem like the easiest thing in the world to tell him.

They watch each other for what seems like hours, their eyes bright with emotion, until almost simultaneously, they gravitate towards each other and their lips meet in a soft, gentle kiss as they both try to convey the tenderness and depth of the love they feel for each other. And when she lies in bed alone, later that night, and thinks back on this kiss, the first of many they've shared tonight, she can't help smiling happily to herself as she absently lifts her fingers to touch her lips, feeling, _knowing_ that her life is beginning anew and that the months and years ahead could bring her more joy, hope, happiness and fulfilment than she's ever known before.

 


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in publishing this update. I've had some trouble with this chapter, so hopefully it's turned out all right. In compensation, it's quite a lengthy one. I've also included a few lines from Spooks which I'm sure you'll recognise. A big thank you to all who've stuck with this story and especially to those of you who've taken the time to review. S.C.

_Three days later - Sunday, 20th November_

 

She can hear his heart beating steadily as she rests her head on his breast, her left arm wrapped around his chest, her right around his waist, and her legs tangled with his as she lies beside him on his reclining armchair, her bum wedged sideways between him and the arm rest. The fingers of his left hand are toying with her hair as he rests his cheek against the top of her head, occasionally planting kisses against her hair while his right hand rests against her side, having wormed its way under her top, the feel of his warm skin against hers comforting and precious. He's covered them both with a soft, blue and red chequered blanket, and they're watching some documentary about Africa on BBC2. They'd actually planned on watching a film tonight until Harry had suddenly remembered that he'd never replaced the DVD player that had been stolen from his house over a year ago now, and they'd had to resort to the telly. She doesn't mind, though she'd enjoyed teasing him about it for a little while earlier in the evening.

They've actually had a wonderfully relaxing evening since they'd left work together and got home early, _his_ home this time, taking full advantage of the fact that it's Sunday and a quiet day on the Grid. Scarlet had been overjoyed to see them and she'd felt a little pang of guilt for depriving her of Harry's company over the last few days, so she'd endeavoured to make it up to her by fussing over her and suggesting they take her for a long walk in the park. When they'd got back at dusk, she and Harry had cooked together and eaten before they'd settled down to play a game of chess, which she suspects he'd let her win, followed by a long cuddle on the sofa, while Scarlet slept in front of the gas fire, and their best snogging session to date. In fact, it's been one of the most enjoyable evenings of her life and she feels so close to him, so intimate, that she thinks she might actually burst with happiness. _This_ , she can't help feeling, is as good as life gets.

They've managed to spend every evening together these last few days, ever since she'd moved back home from the safe-house, and it's been truly wonderful, almost as if the last two, awful weeks, hadn't happened. They've talked for hours, opening up to each other a little more each night, working through their concerns, their worries, and their fears until they've found a solution or a way around most of them.

She'd been surprised to learn that she'd almost convinced him that their relationship wasn't worth the danger it would place her in as his partner, particularly as Juliet had said something about them – he wouldn't tell her exactly what, which made her think it must have been really quite crude and made her dislike the woman even more, if that was possible – when next he'd seen her, clearly gauging his reaction and the level of his attachment to her, and _that_ had been the reason behind the sudden change in his behaviour towards her. He'd attempted to distance himself from her by behaving as he'd always done, apparently without realising that this had simply served to confirm the rumours of their personal relationship, rather than dispelling them. But after what had happened because of Gary, he'd come to realise that she's in danger anyway, as indeed they all are because of the job, but also because, like it or not, he cannot control or entirely hide his feelings for her as had become very apparent right after the shoot out at the safe-house when Adam had taken one look at his face and immediately asked Zaf, “Is Ruth all right?” So he'd thought long and hard about it and realised that, far from keeping her safe, staying away from her was placing her in _more_ danger as he wasn't near enough to protect her.

She'd objected very strongly to this idea initially, of course, insisting that she can take care of herself and doesn't need protecting, but in the end, she'd had to concede that he has a point, even if it's merely the fact that her disappearance, should someone abduct her, would be noticed much faster if she and Harry were together and in the habit of ringing or seeing each other every night after work. Not that Harry would allow that to happen, of course. He seems to have spent every waking moment since her near brush with death coming up with ideas, things they can do to minimise the risks to her safety, bless him.

He's already convinced her to have Malcolm and Colin upgrade the security at her house, which has been almost non-existent for a while now, and he'd also suggested that the new transmitter that Colin's developed be fitted to her coat. Apparently, Colin had assured him that he could adapt the device to be added to any garment, though it would mean losing the audio component of the transmission that the tiny microphones stitched into the fabric of the original jacket provide. He'd apparently been enthused by the idea of testing it out on her coat as it could provide a relatively inexpensive way to track agents if they ran into trouble. This additional measure of security had taken more convincing on his part, but eventually she'd agreed to try it out on one of her coat buttons, the fact that it remains inactive until the person wearing it turns it on, when it begins transmitting a distress signal and it's location to the Grid until turned off again, reassuring her no end. She's always been fiercely protective of her privacy, but in this case, she'd decided that the benefits outweigh the costs, in the end, and had agreed to have Colin equip her with it. Plus Harry had been so visibly relieved when she'd finally agreed that she'd have been happy to do it for that reason alone.

Of course, the fact that Colin now knows for a fact that they're dating hadn't gone down well, but she'd managed to forgive him inadvertently confirming the rumours, realising that he'd only been trying to find an acceptable and least intrusive way of protecting her. Besides, as Harry had pointed out, it's impossible to completely hide how they feel about each other, and though this week has been challenging, the evenings she's spent with Harry have more than made up for the discomfort she's felt at work. In fact, the happy, knowing smiles of her colleagues haven't managed to bring her down much at all, though she feels as if her cheeks are constantly burning and she can't help the low level anxiety she experiences while on the Grid or the way it flares up every time she's alone with Harry at work, fearing that everyone is watching and judging her. She's extremely grateful, however, that all her colleagues have done so far is smile and exchange a few looks, though Zaf's facial expression could really be described as nothing less than a grin. She's sure Fiona has something to do with the lack of any ribbing and, if she wasn't so embarrassed by the whole thing, she'd buy her something nice in thanks, maybe a huge, decadent, chocolate cake that she knows she'd love. Perhaps she'll splurge on a really nice present for her next birthday, she thinks; she should surely be over her embarrassment by July!

Harry had also confided in her that he'd made it clear to Juliet, when they'd met on Thursday, that both Hicks _and_ she were to be left alone or else, which is part of the reason he'd been so pleased to see the book from Clive – the threat's so much more real now he has the original. She'd also been quite surprised, though in retrospect she knows she shouldn't have been, that he's had a couple of new legends created for her in secret, just in case, one of them matching one of his own so they can disappear together, if need be, as husband and wife. She smiles now as she remembers his uncertain look and shy smile when he'd mentioned this, feeling a little overwhelmed by the tenderness of her feelings for him as she squeezes him against her, causing him to hum in pleasure.

He's thought of everything, it seems, and she'd realised in that moment, when he'd shown her her new passports, how much of a legend he really is. To her, he's always been a good boss, a great leader, and a brilliant decision maker, especially under pressure, as well as being a warm, affectionate, kind-hearted, incredibly sexy and desirable man, but the true extent of his abilities in the field had become apparent to her only in that moment. She'd felt awed and small by comparison, and though a little self-doubt had crept in when she'd remembered that he'd chosen _her_ above all other women and she'd began to wonder how she'll ever keep up with him and live up to his expectations, she'd rallied against it and forced herself to focus on how lucky and privileged she feels that he's singled her out to be his partner in life instead.

“Have you ever been to Africa?” she asks softly as she returns her attention to the images on the telly.

“Just to Egypt,” he confesses, “a long time ago. Have you?”

“No,” she sighs, “but it looks so beautiful.”

He hums his agreement and says, “Ben worked in South Africa for a while. He was always telling me I should go out there to visit sometime, but I never got round to it.”

“I'm sorry,” she murmurs, squeezing him against her again. They've talked about many things these last few days, including a bit about their childhoods and years at university and about their families, so she knows a little about his brother and parents and how much he misses them.

“I often dream about a big trip,” he ventures after a few moments of silence. “Nothing as exotic as Africa, just the great capitals of Europe. The Grand Tour – Paris, Madrid, Rome, Berlin... Visiting the museums, walking in the streets, sitting in cafés.”

“Sounds lovely,” she agrees.

“Of course, it's not a trip to do alone,” he adds quietly after a beat.

“Did you have a particular companion in mind?” she smiles, realising where he's heading with this, or at least, _hoping_ she's right in her assumptions.

“Well,” he murmurs, “it would have to be somebody who's conversation you enjoyed, yet who understood the need sometimes for quiet, somebody with a gentle sense of humour... principled, but not foolish or naïve.”

“Good qualities,” she nods, tilting her head back to look at him as a warm glow spreads across her heart. God, he's just so bloody perfect at times, she thinks in awe.

“It's not often you find them in one person,” he murmurs huskily, his gaze infinitely loving and tender.

She smiles, lifting her hand to cup his face as she sighs his name in bliss and holds his gaze for long moments. “You're forgetting something though,” she adds playfully after a bit.

“What's that?” he asks.

“He has to be a spy,” she grins, watching his face transform as he smiles broadly, his eyes twinkling in mirth. “That's very important. I have a thing for good-looking, British spies.”

“Again with the good looks,” he sighs in mock disappointment. “I fear that I shall never pass muster, Ruth.”

“Oh, I think, you'll do just fine, Harry,” she smiles. “Gorgeous, expressive eyes and soft, pouty lips. What more can a girl ask for?” She slides her fingers down his cheek, tracing his jaw with her fingertips and running her thumb slowly across his lips. “My Harry – practically perfect in every way. Have I told you how much I adore your lips?” she murmurs, reaching up to kiss them.

“Not today, you haven't,” he whispers huskily before they kiss, again and again and again.

When he eventually pulls back, she sighs in contentment and burrows her face into his shoulder, valiantly trying to push aside the desire that's threatening to overwhelm her and make her do something stupid. She's promised herself to let him set the pace this time, to allow him to maintain control of their relationship until he's ready to trust her completely again, recognising that he needs that right now after the way she's treated him. Despite her resolution, however, it's not an easy thing to do when his proximity alone is enough to make her wet with want now, after several evenings of what feels like extended foreplay. It's getting more and more difficult to resist the temptation to touch him _there_ and to stop herself from grabbing his hand and pressing it against her heat in aching desperation.

“Would you like some tea?” she asks eventually, needing an excuse to get up and put some distance between them for a little while.

“I'd rather have a drink,” he replies, steadying her with his hands on her hips as she extracts herself from the armchair and stands. “What about you? Tea? A glass of wine? Whisky? Sherry? Or I think I have some gin.”

“What kind of sherry?” she asks, watching him shrug and get up, going over to the sideboard and opening the cabinet in search of drinks.

“Looks like I have dry or medium-dry,” he replies after a beat. “I also seem to have some Beirão, a sweet liquor from Portugal, and what looks like some kind of cocoa liquor. I've never tried that one. It was a gift from Uruguay or Paraguay or some other South American country that Catherine brought back for me.”

“That sounds interesting,” she smiles. “Let's try it.”

He looks doubtful for a moment before sighing, “Very well, but I reserve the right to switch to whisky if it's disgusting.”

“Fair enough,” she smiles. “I'm hungry,” she adds, and heads off into the kitchen in search of nibbles.

When she returns with a bag of peanuts, he's already poured their drinks, has switched off the TV, put some soft background music on, and is sitting on the sofa, waiting for her. “I thought you might find it a little more comfortable here,” he says as she sits beside him and pulls her feet up onto the settee, sitting cross legged and pulling the blanket over her.

“Thanks,” she smiles, tossing him the other end of the blanket. “Not that I didn't enjoy our cuddle in the arm chair, but you're probably right. Wouldn't want a numb bum.”

“No,” he smiles, pulling the blanket over his legs, “though I'd be happy to help by rubbing it better if such a thing ever happened to you, Ruth.”

His eyes are twinkling at her in mischief, so she lifts her drink towards him and murmurs, “I'll drink to that. May my bum be numb on a daily basis.” He laughs and lifts his glass towards hers, clinking them together before they both take a sip. “Mmmm,” she hums. “This is good stuff, Harry.”

“Not half bad,” he agrees, setting the glass down and reaching for a handful of nuts, “though I can't see myself spurning the whisky for it any time soon.”

“That's good,” she smiles. “All the more for me.”

He laughs again and the sounds disturbs Scarlet who yawns, stretches, and pads over to them, jumping onto the sofa between them. “Hello, Scarlet,” she says, scratching her ears as she settles down, resting her head on her thigh. “Did you have a good nap?” She thumps her tail against Harry's leg in answer and sticks her tongue out a little in bliss.

“We've tired you out, old girl,” Harry chuckles, stroking her side affectionately. “She hasn't had such a long walk in ages.”

“She deserved it, poor pup,” Ruth smiles fondly at the dog. “I've deprived her of your company for three days in a row now. She's been thoroughly neglected.”

“I wouldn't go that far, Ruth,” he objects. “Ever since Fidget came to stay, she's developed the very annoying habit of sleeping on my bed.”

She laughs in surprise at that, lifting her eyes to his as she teases, “Doors not working any longer, Harry?”

“No,” he replies, his ears turning pink as he adds, “but she whines if I try to close her in the kitchen now.”

“Awww, you're such a softy, Harry Pearce,” she smiles and leans over Scarlet to kiss his cheek. “And I do love you so very much, you beautiful, wonderful man,” she sighs.

He lifts his eyes to hers and smiles softly, murmuring, “I love you too, my Ruth.”

“I know,” she smiles happily, taking another sip of her drink.

They're quiet for a few moments after that, sitting in companionable silence as they stroke his dog and sip their drinks until she works up the courage to ask him something she's been wondering about lately, ever since he'd placed her on that very special list of women he's loved. “Harry,” she murmurs eventually without looking at him, “feel free to tell me I'm being nosy and to mind my own business, but... what went wrong? With Jane?” She sees his hand pause as it slides along Scarlet's side and feels him tense beside her, and when he doesn't say anything for a few moments, she quickly regrets asking the question, knowing that it's too soon and fearing she's buggered everything up by asking him now. “I'm sorry,” she apologises quickly. “I shouldn't have asked that. Forget-”

“No,” he interrupts, lifting his hand to cover hers. “You've every right to ask that question, Ruth, and to expect an answer. I'm not angry just... It's not an easy thing for me to talk about... Too many mistakes made, too many regrets to make it entirely comfortable.”

She lifts her eyes to his and sees him give her a sad, self-deprecating smile. “You don't have to tell me now if it makes you uncomfortable,” she says softly. “I was just... curious after what you said the other day, about the women you've loved.”

“And you wonder what happened to destroy that love,” he says matter-of-factly, “and are probably worried it might happen again... with us.” She nods, blushing but still keeping her eyes on his. He sighs heavily and drops his gaze to the dog again as he resumes stroking her side. “It won't, Ruth. You and I... we're different; _I'm_ different to the man I was. If things don't work out between us, it won't be for lack of trying on my part.”

“Is that what happened with Jane?” she asks softly when he falls silent.

“Yes. Partly,” he admits. “It seems like everything that could have gone wrong did. You name it, I did it. Lied, cheated, buried myself in work, became emotionally and physically distant and unavailable, made no time for my family. I mean, the first time Catherine called me Daddy, she was fifteen months old! She was practically speaking in full sentences before she knew who I was.” He sighs again, a deep, heartfelt sigh that makes her heart ache for him because, no matter how much of a bastard he might have been back then, it's clear he's in pain now and she can't bear to see him suffer.

“In hindsight,” he murmurs after a bit, “though I believe Jane and I were well suited, we were too young and she couldn't cope with my job and the way it changed me... And it _did_ change me, Ruth, in ways she couldn't fathom or relate to. If I hadn't joined the Service, I think we could have made it work, but with me being a spy...” He tails off and shrugs his shoulders before continuing, “There were just too many secrets and somehow they destroyed any hope of intimacy; I couldn't figure out how to bridge the growing gap between us. In fact, I made it worse by lying to her from the very beginning, from the moment I applied to MI-5. She thought I was applying for a job with the Home Office and I didn't tell her the truth until our wedding day... _after_ we'd cut the cake.”

“Oh Harry,” she sighs, her voice conveying her feelings of disbelief at his actions then, as well as the compassion she feels for him now.

“I think I knew she wouldn't like it,” he continues quietly. “She would have hated being an army wife, though she thought the profession honourable, but a spy... that went against all her values. She hated lies and deceit of any kind. So you see, in a way, it was the job that destroyed us... _That_ and my poor choices... And that's why I feel that what happened with Jane really has no bearing on us.”

He falls silent again and it takes her a moment to pluck up the courage to voice her next thought, realising that she's unlikely to get a better opportunity than this any time soon. “And Juliet?” she asks softly.

He doesn't reply immediately, staring down at Scarlet as he runs his hand over her soft fur, but eventually he says, “Juliet was just a symptom of the underlying problem. I was... drawn to her, not just because she was a beautiful, intelligent woman with a strong personality, but because I could speak freely with her and be myself in a way that I couldn't with anyone else, least of all Jane... My stint with Six was difficult for a variety of reasons, both operational and on the domestic front, and once I was stationed in Cologne, I was the only MI-6 operative there and under a lot of pressure. I felt isolated and alone, so in a way, the affair with Juliet was inevitable. I needed her. She was my escape valve, though a very unwise one as it turned out.”

She can't help feeling uncomfortable and jealous as she listens to him speak candidly about Juliet and his relationship with her. She's heard rumours, of course, and has felt certain they were lovers in the past, but though it happened years ago, when she had been just a child, in fact, she can't help her emotional reaction to his words. “What do you mean?” she frowns, latching onto his last words as she tries to push aside her treacherous feelings.

“I told her things I shouldn't have, things she had no clearance for,” he confesses softly. “And she tried to use them recently to blackmail me into helping her get the job of Security Coordinator.”

She makes a sound of mingled disgust and contempt at this, saying vehemently, “God, I _hate_ that woman,” before she can stop herself. He smiles and lift his eyes to hers, looking so amused that she feels the need to defend herself. “What?” she demands. “It's unfair of her to use something you told her in confidence while you were... involved with her,” she states.

“Remind me never to use you as a honey trap, Ruth,” he smiles, reaching his hand over to clasp hers.

“A honey trap?” she asks in surprise. “You think she was planning this all along?!”

“No,” he shakes his head, “but I screwed up by telling her all I did. Juliet is ruthless and manipulative; she always has been. I knew I'd regret it; I knew the moment the words were out of my mouth. I was lucky she wasn't able to do much damage.”

“What happened?” she asks, intrigued.

“The Home Secretary refused to accept my resignation,” he shrugs.

“Your resignation?!” she exclaims, staring at him in disbelief. “I didn't know you'd resigned!”

“This was back in July, Ruth,” he smiles gently. “I had no reason to tell you back then.”

She hesitates for a moment and then asks, “Would you have told me? If we'd been together then?”

“Of course,” he replies without hesitation.

She sighs and shakes her head before saying softly, “I'm not so sure, Harry. I think we're both so used to being on our own that it's going to be hard to... adapt to the more difficult bits of being together. I think you'd like to think you'd have told me, but realistically, I think I might have heard of it only after you'd got an answer from the Home Secretary, not before.”

He frowns at her, looking thoughtful before sighing and nodding his head, saying, “Perhaps you're right, Ruth.”

She smiles at him, pleased that he's being honest with himself and with her. It's important, she feels, for them to confront themselves and their problems head on. It's what she's always struggled with in the past and perhaps the reason why every other relationship she's had has failed, and she doesn't want that to happen to her and Harry. “The way I see it,” she says, squeezing his hand, “I have a tendency to run and hide when I'm confronted by a personal problem, refusing to face it and hoping it'll go away. You tend to want to close yourself off from everyone and deal with it on your own. We both need to change that if we're going to stay together long term. We have to be a team, Harry.”

He nods and lifts his head to smile at her. “My wise Ruth,” he says.

“It's easy to be wise, Harry,” she shrugs. “It's _acting_ wisely that's difficult.”

He chuckles at that, murmuring, “Very true.” They're silent after that for a little while, watching each other until he suddenly asks, “How did you know? About Juliet?”

She blushes and drops her gaze, unprepared for the question. “Well, I knew you'd met while you were seconded to Six,” she admits, letting go of his hand and beginning to stroke Scarlet again. “I think Adam mentioned that at some point and so, inevitably, some rumours started circulating around the office about the nature of your relationship back then, as they often do... but really it's the way you are around each other that gave it away. She touches you sometimes and there are occasional looks that seem to... connect you more deeply than two colleagues or even old friends. I can't explain it, but it seems obvious to me that you've know each other... intimately in the past.”

“You're a born spook, Ruth,” he smiles and she can't help blushing at the compliment and feeling incredibly chuffed to have him praise her like this. They both stroke Scarlet for a few moments in silence after that, until she feels the need to ask another of the burning questions she has about his past. She lifts her head to look at him and sees him do the same, smiling softly as he asks, “What is it now, Ruth?” And she can't help blushing again as she lowers her gaze, a little shocked that he knows her so well and, at the same time, really quite pleased about it.

“I was just...” she begins and pauses for a moment, plucking up her courage before she swallows and continues, “wondering if... there were others.”

“Affairs?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“No,” he shakes his head and it surprises her so much that she lifts her eyes to stare at him. He smiles at her, perhaps pleased to have surpassed her expectations, but it's short lived as he becomes serious again and admits, “It lasted about six months and I ended it because Jane became pregnant with Catherine. After we returned to England, I'm ashamed to say, there were... drunken one-night-stands and the occasional honey trap for work, but no affairs.”

She nods mutely, frowning as she drops her gaze to Scarlet again and resumes stroking her, lost in thought, trying to pull apart and analyse what he's told her, her own feelings, and what this means for them, but his voice soon brings her out of her silent contemplation. “Is it my turn now?” he asks softly.

“Your turn?” she questions, lifting her eyes to his in puzzlement.

“To ask a question,” he clarifies, his expression serious.

She swallows and nods, murmuring, “Yes, okay. I suppose that's only fair.”

“Good,” he nods, still looking serious, “because I have something very important I need to know.”

“What?” she whispers, feeling her stomach begin to tie itself in knots as the seconds tick past without him saying anything.

Then, when the tension has become almost unbearable, he leans in and asks softly, “Which do you enjoy more, Ruth? When I kiss your lips, or this special spot right here?” and he lifts his hand and gently strokes the extremely sensitive spot on her neck, just under her left ear and jaw, that he'd discovered recently. She shivers and gasps in surprise, her eyes closing momentarily as her whole body responds to his sensual caress with a potency that shocks her a little. When she opens her eyes, his gaze is dark and he looks exceedingly pleased with himself. “Well?” he murmurs when she fails to respond immediately.

She frowns, puzzled for a moment that he's apparently serious about this, that _this_ is the question he really wants to ask her. “Seriously?” she stammers. “That's all you want to know?”

“Mmm hmmm,” he hums, watching and waiting, and when she still doesn't reply, he drops his gaze to his dog, still lying between them and now dozing peacefully. Gently, he dislodges her from the sofa, saying, “Time for bed, Scarlet. Go to your basket,” and, surprisingly, she complies without protest, shaking herself after he puts her down and trotting off to her bed in the kitchen.

“Ruth,” he murmurs, pulling her attention back to him as he slides closer to her on the settee and lifts his hand to cup her face. “I know you, my Ruth. I know how much you value and _need_ information, lots of information so you can explore and examine it from every angle, pulling it apart and putting it back together again, making new connections and coming up with every possible permutation, every possible outcome, outcomes that no one else can see. You're an analyst, and a brilliant one at that, and I know how much you need to know _everything_. I know that and I'm trying to give you what you need, but... I'm not like that, Ruth. I don't need to know everything about you and your past to know that I love you more deeply than I've ever loved before, that I'm prepared to give all I have to make this work, and that I will not make the same mistakes I made with Jane. I'm a field agent. I've always relied on and trusted my instincts, and my gut is telling me right now that you are a dream come true and that I am the man who can make you happy.”

And suddenly all that there is, is Harry, his voice and his eyes, such beautiful, intense, passionate eyes, and she can't breathe. “We complement each other, Ruth. We're perfect together. You keep me grounded and calm, you check my impulses and give me enough information to help me make better decisions and fewer mistakes, and I stop you from over-analysing everything, from getting bogged down in the details and over-thinking everything, so much so that you forget to enjoy life. It's like you said – we're a team, a bloody good team, Ruth.” He pauses, watching her for a few moments as his words sink in and she begins to realise the truth of them. A smile begins to spread across her lips and she sees the answering smile appear on his own as he murmurs, “Now... you haven't answered my question yet. This is very important. Which do you prefer?” and before she can reply, he's leaning in to kiss her mouth, gently, softly, and exquisitely tenderly, before he lifts his head a little and whispers, “On your lips?” Then slowly he tilts his head down, his left hand gently moving her hair away from the side of her face, his warm breath coasting over her skin and making goosebumps appear all along its path, her breath catching and a gentle gasp of anticipation escaping her as he moves closer, pausing with his mouth just millimetres from the spot he's aiming for. “Or this spot right here?” he murmurs before he leans forward and his lips press softly against her for a moment before he pulls back a little and then leans in for more, his lips parting this time and his tongue slipping between them to caress her skin. The touch is delicate and fleeting at first, but moments later, she's gasping for breath and her hands are pulling him towards her as his lips collide with her flesh and suck hard, his tongue still moving sensually against her. “Oh God, Harry,” she gasps moments before he releases her and moves back to her lips, his kiss passionate and bruising in it's intensity now as his fingers slide into her hair and his right hand slips behind her, drawing her against him. They get utterly lost in this kiss, and when eventually his lips release hers, they're both breathing hard and she knows that, if he pulls back again after this, she'll not be able to keep her resolution to let him be the one who initiates sex this time.

“Well?” he growls huskily, long moments later.

“Lips,” she murmurs dreamily and sees him smile, but as he's about to lean in again to kiss her, she shakes her head gently, adding boldly, “The other ones,” and though she hadn't thought it possible, his gaze grows darker still, smouldering as unmasked lust settles over his features.

“Stay,” he demands, his voice gravelly. “Stay and let me make love to you tonight.”

“Yes,” she whispers, “Yes, Harry,” and suddenly he's kissing her again and everything is passion, and fire, and sweet abandon.

 


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humble apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. Travel in combination with a spot of redecorating at home have kept me otherwise engaged recently and I didn't want to post an update until I had completed the whole story. There are only three or four chapters left at this point and I plan on posting twice a week to make up for recent delays. Hope you enjoy and thanks for sticking with this fic. When I began posting it, I thought it was complete at 8 chapters, but a little tweaking here and there has caused it to balloon out into a 40+ chapter monster so, much as I've enjoyed the ride, I'm glad to have wrapped it up so I can move onto telling another story. Thanks for all the encouragement and reviews. Cheers, S.C.

_Next day – Monday, 21st November_

 

She knows he's watching her, but she resists the temptation to look up, trying to keep her mind focused on the transcript she's skimming through, looking for anything unusual or out of place. It's mundane stuff again, and truthfully, she can't wait until her new desk officers complete their spook training so she can pass this kind of stuff onto them. Not that she won't have her work cut out for her, training them up to her high standards. Amanda and John are still not there and they've been with her for almost a year. But though it'll be more work initially, she knows that, in the long run, it'll make her life easier and she'll be able to do more and thus, hopefully, make Britain that little bit safer.

Somehow, however, inevitably, as is nearly always the case, his continued scrutiny, which she can always sense as if she possesses some kind of special Harry radar, gets to her in the end and she can't keep her mind focused on her work, finding instead that it wonders to him, his soft smile, his expressive eyes, the pleasure of his company, the passion of his kisses. But though deep down she knows she's already lost the battle, she determinedly keeps her eyes downcast for long moments, struggling to refocus her mind on the boring transcript she's holding before she eventually has to concede defeat.

Sighing then, she lifts her eyes to find him just looking away for the third time today, and she can't help frowning in puzzlement now. Two times might have been a coincidence, but three is definitely deliberate and out of character for Harry and, therefore, cause for concern. They've never really gone in for long looks held at work, but neither has he ever been _this_ keen to avoid her gaze. It's always been her who's looked away quickly in embarrassment when he's caught her watching; he's always just smiled and held her gaze for a moment longer before looking away again, especially lately. So why is he acting differently now, she wonders, tuning the problem over in her mind, recalling that he'd seemed unusually pensive this morning too when she'd woken.

He'd been already awake, lying on his back with his right arm folded under his head, his expression thoughtful, his lips pouting adorably. He'd seemed a little troubled for a moment before he'd become aware that she'd woken, but his mood had shifted so quickly when his eyes had alighted on hers that, as she'd been half-asleep at the time, she hadn't been sure that she hadn't imagined it. Now, however, as she looks at him, she's sure that something's not quite right this morning. She casts her mind back over last night and this morning, looking for something she might have done to upset him, but she comes up blank.

She's no idea how long she sits there worrying, trying to decide what to do about it before she comes to the conclusion the only real way forward is to ask him. No sooner has she come to that decision when she lifts her eyes to scan the Grid, and finding it somewhat quiet, she decides that there's no time like the present and forces herself to get up and walk to his door, grabbing the couple of requisitions lying on her desk that need his signature. Normally, she'd make sure she has at least half a dozen before she brings them to him, but she tells herself no one will notice or care and, by the time she's reached his office door, she's almost convinced herself of the truth of it and has nearly managed to squash down the anxiety that's risen inside her at the thought of the others watching.

He looks up as she enters and smiles softly, and she feels a warmth spread through her insides at the sight and her anxiety ease a little. “Hi,” he murmurs, watching as she approaches, his expression neutral and carefully controlled though his gaze remains warm.

“Hi,” she replies, stopping in front of his desk and handing him the papers, taking the seat he indicates with his hand before turning his attention to the paperwork, skimming through it and signing both sheets.

“Is that it?” he asks as he pushes them towards her, his questioning gaze making her blush.

“Yes,” she admits, dropping her gaze from his for a moment. “I just needed an excuse... to come in here.”

“You don't need an excuse, Ruth,” he replies, his eyes softening. “You're always welcome.”

“I know,” she nods, giving him a small smile, “but I feel like a do... you know, for appearance's sake.”

He purses his lips and says nothing for a moment, and she knows it's because he doesn't share her views on this. He'll probably never understand why it's so important to her what their colleagues think of them, she realises, but she's grateful that he doesn't say anything about that now. “Was there something specific you wanted?” he asks, his tone of voice different, a little less warm, a little more distant.

“Perhaps I've just missed you,” she replies uncertainly, giving him a small, tentative smile, sensing the same tension from him that she'd picked up on this morning.

“Have you?” he murmurs, his expression inscrutable.

“Of course I have, Harry,” she sighs in mild exasperation, dropping her gaze to her hands for a moment that are fiddling with the ring on her middle finger. “I can hardly stop thinking about you.”

“Good,” he says and she can feel him relax a little.

She smiles at him briefly before taking a deep breath and adding bravely, “Yes... but the thing is, Harry, that _because_ I'm so... aware of you, I can tell that something's not quite right this morning, something's... troubling you.” She looks up at him and finds him watching her carefully. He doesn't say anything for long moments, and eventually she feels so uncomfortable that she begins speaking again. “I thought perhaps it was... related to us, perhaps something I've done?”

He shakes his head at that and leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk and clasping his hands together in front of his chin. “No, Ruth,” he murmurs softly, “at least, not yet.” She frowns in puzzlement at that, tilting her head slightly as she watches him press his lips against his hands. “I suppose I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he says after a beat, giving her a small shrug and an apologetic half-smile.

She stares at him for a moment in silence before stating, “It won't, Harry,” hating the fact that she's hurt him so deeply and wondering if a part of him will always feel this way, especially after they've had sex. She can't really blame him for it after everything, and she suddenly feels the need to prove herself to him beyond all doubt.

“Good,” he murmurs, giving her a smile as he leans back in his chair, but before he can say anything more, the phone rings. He sighs and glances at it before saying, “I'm sorry, Ruth. I'll have to take this,” and lifting the receiver. “Yes,” he barks into the phone and then adds with a look of resignation, “Juliet.”

 _That_ woman, she thinks in distaste as she begins to rise, but a hand gesture from Harry has her pausing midway and sitting down again. He wants her to stay and that knowledge fills her heart with joy. “That's not what we agreed,” she hears him growl as he leans forwards, his eyes flashing in anger, and she can't help wondering what that witch is up to now. “No,” he says forcefully, slapping his hand down hard on his desk and she watches him get up and begin pacing back and forth behind his desk, his movements limited by the cord of the phone and bringing to mind a caged lion. It's going to be one of _those_ conversations, she thinks and quietly gets up.

He lifts his eyes to hers as she stands, so she whispers softly, “I'll be right back.”

He nods at her before turning back to the phone and demanding, “Juliet, listen to me! If you do what you're suggesting, you'll undo all the good work my team has done over the last few weeks. We have him exactly where we want him and...” She doesn't hear the rest as she slips out of his office and makes her way to the kitchen, determined to put her new resolution into action despite how uncomfortable she feels. He's going to need something after this battle, and knowing Harry, he's going to reach for the whisky unless she brings him a cup of tea and some biscuits, lots of biscuits, preferably covered in chocolate. She smiles as she puts the kettle on and walks back to her desk to retrieve her secret stash and her mug.

Five minutes later, she's carrying a tray with two steaming cups of tea and a plate of chocolate covered biscuits across the Grid, trying hard not to blush. She's never done this before at this time of day; it's always been a ritual reserved for the evenings when they're the last ones on the Grid, but she hopes it'll show him that she's not going to change her mind or run from him again any time soon. Fiona looks up and smiles as she passes her desk, so she attempts an answering smile of her own, which she's not sure is entirely successful. Her stomach is tying itself in knots, so much so that she doubts she'll be able to eat anything at all for the rest of the day.

“Let me get that for you,” Adam says as she approaches Harry's office, almost making her jump. She hasn't seen him approach, so caught up has she been in her thoughts and the turmoil inside her, keeping her eyes downcast lest she make eye contact with anyone else.

“Thank you,” she murmurs as he pulls the door open for her and steals a biscuit, giving her a cheeky grin as she lifts her eyes to his in surprise and frowns in disapproval.

“Lucky man,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Fiona never shares her secret stash with me.” He winks at her and she feels her cheeks heat up as she quickly looks away and steps through the door into Harry's office, wishing that she could just disappear into thin air. The door slides shut behind her with a snap which brings her out of her uncomfortable thoughts and into the present once more.

Harry, she thinks and lifts her eyes to look for him. He's no longer on the phone but standing near the cabinet where he keeps the drinks, his whisky decanter in hand and his head turned towards her, looking at her in surprise. “Bit early for a drink, isn't it?” she smiles shyly.

“Undoubtedly,” he replies, putting the whisky away, turning towards her and meeting her half way across his office. “Wow, Ruth,” he murmurs as he takes the tray from her hands and carries it to his desk, “and the chocolate biscuits too! What did I do to deserve those?”

“You looked like you could use some,” she shrugs as he lifts his eyes to hers.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his eyes softening into pools of liquid love and she can't help getting lost in them for several moments.

“You're welcome, Harry,” she whispers, knowing that he's not just thanking her for the biscuits.

He smiles and picks up her mug of tea, handing it to her and reaching for his own and the plate of biscuits. Then he turns back towards her and asks, “Would you like to sit here or on the sofa?”

She hesitates before replying, “Here... if you don't mind,” looking up at him uncertainly. Normally, when they're the last ones left on the Grid, they sit together on the sofa, but she finds she's not brave enough to do that now, in the middle of the day with everyone watching.

“I don't,” he reassures her and she can't help loving him even more in that moment for being so understanding.

He places the plate in the middle of his desk before moving back behind it and taking a seat, sipping his tea and reaching for a biscuit. “Mmmm,” he hums after he swallows the first bite, washing it down with more tea, “Thank you, Ruth. This is just what I needed. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“Drink yourself into an early grave most likely,” she murmurs and can't help smiling when he looks up at her in surprise.

“Then let's hope I'll never have to find out,” is his quiet reply.

 


	41. Chapter 41

_Later that evening_

 

“So Ruth,” Zaf asks with a mischievous grin. “I've always wondered... What's Harry like away from work?”

She's been expecting something like this ever since they'd all arrived at the George, but though she's been mentally preparing herself to deal with it and has drunk her way though a least a couple of G&Ts in an effort to help herself relax, she's still unprepared for the question when it comes. She stares at him for a few seconds in mild panic before stalling a little by taking another sip of her drink, trying to work out what to say.

The whole point of joining the rest of the team here this evening had been to get this kind of thing over and done with. After she'd left Harry's office today with the empty tea things and carried them through to the kitchen, she'd almost bumped into Zaf, who'd been on his way out with a steaming mug of tea, and who, like Adam, had also stolen a biscuit – the last one – after remarking teasingly, “No fair, Ruth. How come you never share the fancy biscuits with the rest of us?” She'd blushed as he'd winked at her and slid past her onto the Grid, and that's when she'd realised that they're not going to stop until they've had a chance to tease her a little and that, perhaps, it's better for everyone if she just bites the bullet and brings her relationship with Harry out into the open, on the Grid at least. You never know, she'd told herself, perhaps it'll even make her feel less anxious at work too – because at this point it was unlikely to make it any worse – and it would certainly show Harry that he doesn't have to worry about her bolting again.

So when, later that afternoon, Zaf had invited her to join them all at the George, she'd accepted, knowing that Harry had a meeting with the DG tonight and wouldn't be available till later anyway. Zaf had seemed pleased and Harry surprised when she'd mentioned her plans for this evening, but she'd seen the pleasure infuse his gaze when she'd suggested he pick her up there, when he was free, and they go home together. The whole thing had been worth it for that look alone.

She'd thought she might die from the anxiety as the hour of their departure had approached and she'd almost chickened out, but Fiona had been the one to collect her from her desk and walk with her arm-in-arm to the pub, so she'd been able to avoid a panic attack and reach their destination relatively unscathed. In fact, Fiona's presence beside her has worked wonders in helping her relax – with a lot of help from the G&Ts – and has successfully kept Zaf's mischievous streak in check until now, when the three pints he's downed and the sudden lull in the conversation have proved too much of a temptation to resist.

“Boorish and irascible, Zaf,” Fiona says sarcastically now, intervening so she doesn't have to answer. “What do you think he's like?”

“I don't know, do I?” he replies defensively. “He's not an easy man to read. If you told me Adam's all gooey and lovey-dovey, I could believe that, but Harry's another matter entirely.”

“What's that about me?” Adam asks, taking the seat on the other side of Fiona that he'd vacated a few minutes ago to visit the gents'.

“You're all mushy and sweet,” Zaf replies, giving him a cheeky grin.

“Thanks,” Adam smiles, lifting his pint and taking a large gulp.

“I was asking Ruth what Harry's like, seeing as I can't picture him as mushy or sweet,” Zaf adds, looking a little disappointed that Adam didn't react to his provocation. “Can you?”

Adam looks thoughtful for a moment before he replies, “Yeah, actually, I can.” Then at Zaf's disbelieving look, he adds, “What? Harry's a multi-layered, multifaceted man and I wouldn't put anything past him.” And as the two of them continue arguing good naturedly about Harry's finer and less than stellar qualities, she feels herself relax like never before, finally realising that her colleagues here, these sometimes wonderful, sometimes irritating and exasperating people, really care. They care about her, they care about Harry, and they care about them together, as a couple. They're _happy_ about it.

She looks from one to the other, Adam to Zaf, Fiona to Malcolm and Colin, and can't help smiling. Then feeling suddenly brave, she states, “Actually, he's...” She pauses, looking for the right word as everyone stops speaking and turns to look at her, and she can feel all their eyes on her though she's looking down at her glass that's cradled in her hands. “Lovely,” she finishes with a sigh as a picture of Harry, wonderful Harry, swims to the forefront of her mind.

There's silence for long moments after that, the tone of her voice more than her words conveying to them the depth of her feelings for Harry, until it's broken by Zaf saying in a light-hearted tone of voice, “Nah, I don't buy it. Harry? Lovely? _Please._ ”

Everyone laughs at that and she can't help smiling and looking up at his cheeky face, suddenly feeling grateful for his teasing nature and the fact that the ice is finally broken. After that, the light teasing and ribbing she's subjected to doesn't bother her much any more, and she even finds herself giving as good as she gets. By the time she receives Harry's text letting her know that he's done and asking where to meet her, she's feeling relaxed and happy, so she tells him to come find her here, inside the pub. Whether he's surprised by this or not, she doesn't know as his reply is a simple OK.

She thinks she's the first to spy him when he arrives a good twenty minutes later. She smiles at him and prepares to get up, as the seats on both sides of her are taken, when she feels Malcolm's hand on her right forearm and hears him murmur, “Stay. I'll get another chair.” Then she watches as he vacates the seat to her right, nods at Harry in greeting and moves over to another table to ask to borrow a chair.

“Hello,” she smiles up at Harry as he stops beside her. “How was the meeting?”

“Good,” he nods, “Productive for a change.” Everyone else notices his presence now and he's greeted with a chorus of hello Harry's to which he replies with a nod of acknowledgement. “I'll just get a drink,” he murmurs when he eventually returns his eyes to hers.

“No need,” she smiles, lifting the glass of whisky towards him. “I've got you one already.”

“Thanks,” he says softly as he takes it from her hand, brushing his fingers against hers in a gentle caress and making her heart beat faster at the contact. He takes a sip while she watches him and pulls out the chair Malcolm's vacated for him, taking a seat beside her. The conversation at their table has started up again, but she's sure their every move is being closely watched by all their colleagues in spite of their apparent disinterest. Despite this, however, she finds she can't keep her eyes off him, watching as his gaze sweeps over the group quickly before settling on hers once more. “All right?” he murmurs, his expression unreadable.

“Fine,” she nods, reaching for his thigh under the table and resting her hand there. He doesn't react for a moment, though she feels the muscles tense below her fingertips and she thinks she detects surprise flit through his gaze for a second before it's gone. Then he casually leans back in his seat and drops his left hand to his lap, covering hers and squeezing it gently as he looks past her towards Adam, who's regaling the group with one of his many anecdotes. He's being so cautious and careful so as not to draw attention to them and make her feel uncomfortable that she feels a surge of love for him and a strong desire to thank him for all that he does for her. Impulsively, she leans forward and plants a soft kiss on his cheek, watching his eyes dart back to meet hers as she pulls back, the surprise and pleasure in his gaze clear for all to see. “I missed you,” she whispers, feeling her cheeks flush.

He smiles and his eyes soften as they gaze at each other, everyone else forgotten for a few precious moments until Zaf makes their presence know by sighing, “Okay. I guess I believe you now.”

The stillness that's settled over the group becomes apparent then, Adam's anecdote forgotten, abandoned in the middle as they all stare at them, some more subtly than others. She feels her blush deepen and drops her gaze to her drink, her sudden confidence evaporating in an instant. “Whom do you believe and what about, Mr. Younis?” Harry's voice cuts through the background chatter of the pub and there is an edge to it that causes all eyes in the group to turn to him.

She sees Zaf swallow and glance at Adam who gives him a you're-on-your-own-mate look while Fiona looks on with a delighted smile and Colin looks a little alarmed. Malcolm's the only one wearing a passive expression though his eyebrows are arched with interest, waiting to see what will happen. “Err...” Zaf stammers, “Nothing. Nothing, Harry.” Harry, with long practised ease and experience, simply continues to stare at him until eventually he volunteers, “It was harmless really, just a little... um... playful teasing, you know?”

“Go on,” Harry encourages though his piercing gaze belies the lightness of his voice.

“Well,” Zaf murmurs, glancing around at everyone again for support and finding none, “we were... er... Ruth was saying how... er...”

“Lovely,” she provides helpfully, really enjoying watching Zaf squirm, and squeezing Harry's hand reassuringly under the table and smiling at him when he glances at her. She wants him to know that she doesn't mind any of this.

“Yes... er... lovely,” Zaf stammers, “you are, and having never seen you... er... display any such... inclination, I wasn't sure I believed her, so...” He tails off here and gives Harry a helpless look before adding, “I'm sorry, Harry.”

“For what?” Harry asks, his face still serious as he squeezes her hand reassuringly.

“For... um...” Zaf begins again, utterly lost for a few moments, “doubting you? And... er... not believing Ruth?”

Harry stares at him for a few moments in silence before he says, “In future, Zafar, I suggest you refrain from expressing an opinion on the character of any of your colleagues. Just because you have the emotional range of a pancake, it does not follow that everyone else does also.” Then ignoring the laughter that's erupted around him at the expense of poor Zaf, he lifts his glass and swallows the rest of his whisky before squeezing her hand again and turning towards her. “Shall we?” he asks.

She nods her agreement and gets up, allowing him to help her on with her coat and waving goodnight to everyone before she lets him take her hand again and guide her out of the pub and into the cold night. “Pancake,” she laughs, once they make it outside and he turns towards her. “That was brilliant, Harry. The look on his face was priceless.”

He grins, murmuring, “It'll take some time for him to live that down. I foresee a lot of jokes about pancakes in his near future.”

She smiles up at him and lifts herself up on her toes to kiss him, and when she pulls back, there's an adoring looking in his eyes and a soft smile on his lips, mirroring her own. “It's chilly tonight,” he murmurs after a bit, seeing her shiver from the cold. “We'd best get moving. Where to, Ruth?”

“Anywhere warm,” she replies, rubbing her hands together to warm them up.

“Here,” he says, pulling his left glove off and slipping it onto her cold hand, frowning as he asks, “Where are your gloves, Ruth?”

“At home,” she smiles. It's so nice to have him worry about her and take care of her like this that she finds herself thinking that she should try to forget her gloves more often.

“Fat lot of good they're doing there,” he replies, taking her right hand in his left one and slipping them both into his coat pocket. “Right,” he says, beginning to walk briskly towards Thames house. “I have the perfect solution for this winter chill – a bathtub big enough for the both of us.”

 


	42. Chapter 42

_Early next morning, Tuesday, 22nd November_

 

It's just after three, she sees as she glances at the kitchen clock before picking up her mug and taking a seat at the kitchen table. Scarlet follows her over, sitting on her haunches and looking up at her with dancing eyes as she lifts her left paw and rests it against her leg, whining for attention.

“I'm sorry, Scarlet,” she smiles, reaching down to pat her head. “It's late... or early, depending on how you look at it. It's not time to play.”

She whines again and gets up, moving round her and disappearing under the table where she proceeds to push the chair beside hers out from under it before jumping onto it, looking pleased and rather proud of her trick. “Well, aren't you a resourceful creature,” Ruth smiles, surprised by how clever she is. “Does Harry let you sit up at the table like this?” she asks suspiciously, remembering their meal earlier tonight when Scarlet had most definitely _not_ been allowed at the table. Scarlet just thumps her tail against the back of the chair in reply, however, and lies down, inching towards her, carefully manoeuvring herself so she can rest her head on her lap without falling through the gap between the two chairs as Ruth sighs, “Yeah, I bet he does.”

She strokes the dog for a few moments in silence, grateful for her company that's working wonders in chasing away the unpleasant memories and emotions from the nightmare she's had tonight, the reasons she's down here with a mug of tea at three in the morning. She'd been dreaming about Harry drowning again and had woken in distress, her breathing shallow, her heart racing, her cheeks damp with tears, her borrowed t-shirt soaked with sweat, but thankfully she hadn't woken him. She'd watched his chest rise and fall while he slept peacefully beside her for a long time, the sight and sound of his breathing soothing her until she'd felt much calmer again. Then she'd got up to pee and decided on a quick shower in the hope of relaxing enough to fall asleep again. It's something she struggles with everyday, the going back to sleep part, and a shower usually helps with that. Tonight, however, though it _had_ helped her relax, it had also made her feel wide awake, so she'd sought out a cup of tea rather than going back to bed, leaving Harry still sleeping upstairs and finding Scarlet here to keep her company.

“He's such a softy,” she confides in the dog. “He spoils his girls something silly, doesn't he?” Scarlet, thumps her tail against the chair again and lifts her head, gazing up at her adoringly. She smiles and scratches her behind the ears before taking a sip of her drink, thinking back on last night, remembering how Harry had ushered her into the bathroom upstairs, filling the tub for her and adding a generous dollop of lavender-scented bubble-bath before insisting that she have a good, relaxing soak while he goes back downstairs to cook for them. She remembers lying in the tub, contemplating how truly thoughtful, caring and considerate a person he is, something she never realised he was capable of being until recently. In fact, she'd spent some time worrying that he was only behaving in this way because of what had happened to her, what that man had almost done, right in front of his eyes, and that his protective instincts are working in overdrive for that reason alone. But luckily before she could get really worked up about that, she'd also recalled that he'd already shown her how thoughtful he can be before any of that had happened, getting her that album for her birthday, bringing her cups of tea on the Grid late at night, or sending her home when she'd had a bad case of the flu last winter and ringing her to make sure she was all right. Clearly it's something he's always been capable of, she'd realised with relief. Yet she can't help thinking now that her recent behaviour must be responsible at least in part for how _hard_ he's been trying, how much thought and effort he's been putting into his courtship, and though she hadn't done it deliberately and is sorry for the pain she's caused him, she can't help feeling pleased with the results. She's never known another man willing or capable of it before, at least, not one that isn't fictional, not one who'd do it for _her_.

Her mind skips back to the moment when he'd returned, still wearing his work clothes minus his tie and jacket and with his shirt sleeves rolled up, looking gorgeous and carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses. She smiles as she replays the events that followed in her mind...

 

“ _Champagne?!” she murmurs in surprise, pushing herself up until her shoulders are out of the water. “What's the occasion?”_

_He smiles as he puts the glasses down by the sink and begins to peel away the foil from the top of the bottle, but he doesn't explain until he's expertly opened and poured the champagne and handed her a glass, his fingers brushing hers deliciously. He picks up his own glass and takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub, looking down at her with adoring eyes as he murmurs softly, “To us, my Ruth. May we have many, many years together, filled with love and countless moments of true joy and happiness.”_

_She smiles, blinking back tears as the emotions threaten to overwhelm her and clearing her throat to whisper, “To us, Harry.” She takes a sip, her eyes still on his as she watches him do the same, feeling her heart overflow with love for him. He really is lovely, she thinks, and it's amazing to her that she's the only one who can appreciate how wonderful he truly is, the only one he trusts to share this tender, gentle side of himself with. “I love you,” she says, lifting her free hand to stroke the back of his hand as it rests on his right thigh and squeezing his fingers with her own when he takes her hand in his._

“ _I love you too,” he smiles._

_They gaze at each other for long moments before she asks again, “So... you didn't tell me, what's the occasion?”_

“ _Well,” he replies, “I suppose there are several. There's the fact that we're now... officially together,” he smiles warmly at her here, “and not just the subjects of office gossip and speculation.” He pauses and drops his gaze to their joined hands before adding softly, “It's also exactly one month since we... came together that first time,” and she can't help smiling and squeezing his hand, overcome by how adorable and sweet he is, but before she can say anything, he's moved swiftly on, saying quickly, “And also the fact that I've managed to finally get you into my bathtub after months of imagining you here and weeks of trying.”_

_He lifts his eyes to hers and grins at her wickedly, making her laugh and then complain, “But you're not in here with me yet, Harry, and you promised the bath would be for both of us.”_

“ _Patience,” he murmurs, giving her his best smoulder. “All in good time, my Ruth.”_

“ _Well seeing as you've been in the kitchen cooking,” she replies playfully, “I'll let it slide this time.” Then she drops her gaze to their joined hands and confesses softly, “You know, I've never had a man cook for me before.”_

_He smiles, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb before releasing it and lifting his hand up to cup her face. “Then that's another thing worth celebrating,” he murmurs huskily as she looks into his eyes. He puts down his glass and bends forward slowly, lifting her face towards his as she pushes herself up in the bathtub, following his gentle guidance until their lips meet in a tender kiss. She hums in appreciation as his soft lips gently massage hers, over and over again, while his fingers caress her skin, stroking her cheek, her jaw, her neck, her collar bone as they glide down her body, making her moan in pleasure as they move lower, cupping her left breast, squeezing it gently, his thumb circling her nipple and then pinching it playfully, sending bolts of desire through her and making her shiver in pleasure._

_She sits up in the bathtub, blindly putting her champagne flute down on the edge of the bath to free her hands and slipping them into his hair, pulling him down towards her, their lips still fused together. He groans into her mouth, his hand squeezing harder before it slips down into the water along her body and nestles itself between her legs. She releases his lips then, moaning his name as he finds her heat and brushes his fingertips against the tight bundle of nerves there, and it's only his sudden exclamation of surprise when she pulls him further towards her that breaks through the haze that's clouding her mind and she realises how precariously he is balanced._

_He's thrown his left arm out and extended both legs, balancing with his right hip on the edge of the bath and his right hand palm down in the water between her legs. “Ruth,” he gasps, “wait! Let me take my clothes off before you pull me in.”_

_She smiles mischievously when she realises how perilous is his position, curling her fingers into the collar of his shirt so he feels it tighten around this throat as she replies, “And if I can't wait? What then?”_

_His eyes dart to hers and she watches with great satisfaction as they widen in surprise or fear – she's not sure which, perhaps a bit of both – before he narrows his eyes at her and growls, “Then I suggest you release me immediately because, if you pull me in, Ruth, I'll make sure you have to wait for a very,_ very _long time.”_

_She tilts her head at him slightly and pouts before she moves her hands to his shoulders and pushes him up, helping him regain his seat on the edge of the bathtub. Then she reaches for her glass, lying back in the tub and taking a sip of her drink before she complains, “You're no fun at all, Harry.”_

_She watches him drain his glass and place it by the sink before he uses his left hand to squeeze the water out of his right sleeve which ended up submerged in the bath a moment ago. Then he lifts his eyes to hers, murmuring, “If you believe that, Ruth, then I'm going to have to work hard tonight to prove otherwise,” and she can't help the way her heart skips several beats at his words. He stands up then and begins to unbutton his shirt, his eyes on her face as she watches, her heart beating fast, her mouth suddenly dry._ _He's wearing a vest, she sees with disappointment as he begins to pull his shirt off, but it doesn't last long as his shoulders are revealed, followed by his strong arms. He's so large and_ _broad, so male and so sexy, she thinks as he tosses the shirt aside, his eyes still on her face, his gaze scorching in its intensity. He pulls off his watch next, setting it next to his glass, followed by his belt and then his trousers, slippers and socks, revealing strong, muscular thighs and wide sexy feet. “Enjoying the show, Ruth?” he murmurs huskily as her eyes rake over him appreciatively, lingering on the impressive bulge in his trunks._

“ _Mmmm,” she hums, lifting her gaze to his. “Very much. You're gorgeous, Harry, and sexy as hell.”_

_He smiles and lifts his vest over his head, his arms stretching up as his upper body is slowly revealed, his soft belly and broad chest, the light dusting of hair on his chest and down the middle of his stomach, the broadness of his shoulders and the thick tufts on hair decorating his armpits. Scrumptious, she thinks as her insides spasm in need and her fingers move between her legs of their own accord. His vest discarded, he moves closer, stopping by the bath's edge and smiling down at her with a knowing look in his eyes as her gaze drops to his manhood, still cloaked by his underwear, and she begins to pant a little in anticipation._

“ _Would you like to do the honours?” he asks in a low rumble, taking a step closer still so that his knees are resting against the side of the bathtub._

_She doesn't hesitate before sitting up and reaching for the waistband of his trunks, confessing softly, “I was so disappointed last time when I realised you were still wearing your trunks in the bath.” Then without waiting for a reply, she quickly pulls his underwear down to his knees, reaching a hand up to touch his erection, something she's not really had a chance to do as much as she'd like to so far. This time is no different, however, as he steps back, kicking his trunks off and stepping over her and into the bath, submerging his body in the warm water beside her and pressing his lips to hers in a fierce, passionate kiss._

“ _I wanted to touch you so much,” he murmurs between kisses as his left hand roams over her body, pulling her against him. “You have no idea how_ much _I've wanted you, Ruth. Everyday, every hour, sitting in meetings, watching you across the Grid, I've wanted you. I've_ yearned _for you, Ruth. All of you. So beautiful... so passionate... so brilliant... so perfect.”_

“ _Harry,” she gasps, her body on fire as his hands and lips go to work on her, his words inflaming her desire, her whole being wanting, needing him. His fingers slip inside her as he sucks on her skin, his thumb brushing her clit, his other hand behind her back, lifting her out of the water so his lips can close around one nipple and then the other, moving lower and leaving a trail of fire behind them. She's so close to the edge now, panting and moaning in need, her hands pulling him towards her, desperate for release. “Harry, I need you,” she whispers, begging him to give her what she wants, to press himself inside her and fill her aching need._

“ _My Ruth,” he whispers and slips his right hand under her bum, lifting her up and plunging his face in the water and between her legs, his mouth closing around her clit, sucking hard, his tongue kneading her expertly as his fingers move inside her and she comes, gasping and arching her back, her movements nearly plunging her own head underwater too. She flings her arms out to stop herself from going under, lifting her head out of the water as the aftershocks of her orgasm continue to ripple through her, his fingers still stroking her intimately._

 

She smiles and blushes now, taking another sip of her tea as she remembers all this and so much more, the rest of their lustful love making that had nearly flooded the bathroom, the laughter, mischief, and silliness that had followed while they'd mopped up the mess, the quiet, intimate atmosphere of their meal, his sparkling eyes as she'd playfully fed him a forkful of everything on her plate, just in case, except for the dessert – a crumble with custard– that she'd joked must be superb seeing as she's sure he makes it often given how sweet a tooth he has, his delighted bark of laughter at that followed by his gorgeous pout in mock offence that she'd felt impelled to sooth with a kiss and which had swiftly resulted in them making out at the table when he'd unexpectedly pulled her into his lap and delved deeply into her mouth, her playful accusation that he was trying to steal her dessert with that kiss, followed by him pinning her arms to her sides with one arm as he'd trapped her against his chest and proceeded to steal the rest of the crumble from her bowl while she'd struggled to break free and, when that had failed, to intercept the next spoonful he stole with her mouth. She chuckles at the memory of their laughter as they'd fought over the crumble, creating yet another mess that they'd had to clean up, though Scarlet had been more than delighted to help out with that as she'd scooped up every piece that hit the floor with lightning speed. His eyes had been alight with love and merriment when eventually they'd settled down, gazing at each other tenderly and gently wiping away the smears of custard still stuck to each other's faces. “I love you, Ruth,” he'd murmured huskily as he'd pulled back from sucking the last smear off her chin, “and you make me so happy,” the honesty in his gaze causing his words to touch her deeper than ever before.

She drains her mug and lifts her fingers to her lips, smiling softly as she thinks back on all this and suddenly misses him almost painfully. Time to go back to bed, she thinks, feeling certain she'll be able to fall asleep again now with the warmth of these recollections soothing her heart and soul. She gets up and moves to the sink, rinsing her mug as behind her Scarlet jumps down and pads over to her, sitting beside her and watching her intently. “Time for bed now, Scarlet,” she says, smiling down at the dog. “Go to your basket.” Scarlet ignores that and instead follows her over to the table, waiting while she pushes the chairs in and then following her to the door. When she attempts to close her in the kitchen, however, she whines pitifully, looking up at her with pleading eyes that tug at her heartstrings. “It's time for bed, Scarlet,” she tries repeating firmly to no avail until eventually she has to give in. “All right then. Come on,” she sighs, “Just don't wake Harry up.” She watches the little dog delightedly wag her tail and dart through the door and up the stairs ahead of her, clearly pleased with herself and making herself scarce before Ruth can change her mind. It's no wonder Harry can't resist her, she thinks as she switches off the light and slowly climbs the stairs behind her.

She finds Scarlet right outside Harry's bedroom, whining softly and looking rather small and scared. “What's the matter?” she whispers, reaching down to stroke the dog in an effort to reassure her, puzzled by her behaviour for a moment until she hears the moan coming from the bed. “Harry?” she says uncertainly as she straightens up and moves into the dim room, approaching the bed slowly, giving her eyes time to adjust to the darkness.

“No,” she hears him utter clearly, several times, and as she approaches, she can see that he's still asleep and in the throes of a nightmare. He begins tossing about more violently as she watches, climbing onto the bed beside him and feeling her heart clench at the sight of him suffering like this. He's shaking his head now and thrashing about like a fish out of water as he mutters in his sleep, repeating the word no over and over again and struggling as if fighting hard to break free of some invisible force.

“Harry,” she says, wondering what to do, feeling a little scared to touch him in case he hurts her inadvertently in his sleep, so agitated does he seem.

“Ruth,” he says clearly, his voice sounding anguished as he struggles harder, but just as she's about to throw caution to the wind and reach over to touch his shoulder, his whole body convulses and suddenly becomes rigid as if shot before he sits bolt upright in bed, uttering her name in an anguished voice again and bursting into tears, drawing his knees up towards his chest and curling his body into a ball, covering his head with his arms. She doesn't know if he's still sleeping or if he's awake, but she reaches out her hand anyway, rubbing across his shoulders and softly murmuring his name. A gasp of surprise escapes him as he turns to her immediately, his face the picture of shock, staring at her as if he can't believe his eyes.

“It was just a bad dream, Harry,” she murmurs softly, continuing to rub his arm and shoulders in comfort. “It was all a bad dream.”

He moves so swiftly then, pulling her to him and squeezing her tightly in his arms as he buries his face in her shoulder and begins to sob again while she gently strokes his back, his neck and hair, murmuring words of comfort and kissing the side of his face, hating to see him like this and at the same time grateful that she's here to offer him what little comfort she can. It's the first time she's seen him have a nightmare, and as she holds him, rocking her body slightly from side to side to sooth him, she can't help remembering him confess that he has nightmares on most nights and wondering if they're all as bad as this. Poor Harry, she thinks as she feels him begin to calm, his sobs subsiding slowly and giving way to periodic hitches in his breathing. She feels him begin to pull away from her then and reluctantly releases him, suspecting that he's feeling rather embarrassed to have fallen apart in her arms like this. Luckily for both of them, however, Scarlet chooses that moment to jump onto the bed and climb over her to get to him, whining as she sniffs at his face and proceeds to lick it, causing him to chuckle as he attempts to fend her off. “It's okay, old girl, I'm fine,” he says, his voice a little hoarse.

While he's fussing over Scarlet, she reaches over to switch on the bedside lamp, needing to see him and reassure herself that he's really all right. It takes him a few minutes, but eventually he succeeds in calming Scarlet down and getting her to curl up beside him. She hands him a couple of tissues, which he takes with a quiet thank you though he doesn't quite meet her eye. Eventually, however, he can't reasonably delay any longer and he turns to look at her, giving her a small, uncertain smile, his gaze apologetic and embarrassed as he whisper, “I'm sorry, Ruth.”

“It's fine, Harry,” she murmurs, running her hand down his arm gently. “You've nothing to apologise for.”

“I woke you,” he objects, dropping his gaze from hers.

“You didn't,” she states and watches him look up at her in surprise. “I was already awake,” she explains, curling her fingers around his. “I had a nightmare earlier and couldn't go back to sleep. I had a cup of tea, and when I came back upstairs, you were having a bad dream.” She pauses here and then adds, “That's why we have company,” nodding at his dog.

“I wondered how she got out of the kitchen,” he smiles, dropping his gaze to Scarlet who's sleeping peacefully now between them.

“Are you all right, Harry?” she asks quietly, still feeling concerned for him. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“It's nothing,” he says quickly.

“It didn't seem like nothing,” she replies quietly, squeezing his hand.

He lifts his eyes to hers again at that, holding her gaze for long moments before he confesses, “It's a reoccurring dream. I've had it for years, but lately it's become...” He tails off, shaking his head.

“Let's go downstairs and get a drink, Harry,” she says softly, seeing how hard it is for him to talk about it and knowing he's unlikely to be able to fall asleep again soon anyway.

He nods and they get up, wrapping themselves in their robes – hers being the one she'd borrowed from him earlier – and go back downstairs, cuddling on the sofa with a tumbler of whisky each and Scarlet curled up by their feet.

“I dreamt you were drowning again,” she volunteers first and feels him squeeze her shoulder in silent support. “It's always the worst one, nightmare I mean, finding you dead on the beach and there's nothing I can do about it. I try _so_ hard to bring you back but,” she pauses swallowing the lump in her throat. “It's no use,” she finishes, “and I feel so... helpless and heartbroken and... alone. I'd be so alone without you, Harry. I don't know what I'd do. It's...” She tails off again and turns her head towards him, pressing her face into his shoulder and inhaling deeply, fighting the tears that threaten to fall.

“Mine started years ago after we lost Bill,” he says softly. “I don't know if you've seen the files but... he was captured by the IRA, Patrick McCann's group. I was there then they took him, but I didn't dare break cover. It would have endangered more than myself, you see; it would have jeopardised our whole operation. I wanted to go out to look for him right away, but they stopped me, said there was nothing to worry about, that he'd be fine and they were bound to give him back eventually. I knew something wasn't right though, that things had changed because of our work, mine and Bill's, but they insisted I do things their way. I couldn't do that though, sit around doing nothing but wait; I had to do _something_. So I took leave and set out to find him alone, asked everyone I could think of, every agent I ran, rattled all the cages, but I got nothing. Almost two week after he was taken, they dumped his body outside his flat in Belfast with a note pinned on it addressed to me. He was... horribly mutilated, they'd... burned him with a blowtorch.”

She gasps at that, squeezing his hand tightly. “Oh Harry,” she says, suddenly realising just how _much_ he's been through.

“In the dream, it's always Bill who goes missing first,” he continues after a moment, “and then I know. It's a race against the clock to find him, and the others – there are always others I've lost or care for – but I'm always too late. McCann is there, laughing at me as he hurts them. I try to run faster, to fight, but I can't reach him and he...” he stops speaking, his chest rising and falling fast as he relives the horrors of his nightmare.

“And tonight it was me,” she finishes for him softly.

“It's been you for some time now,” he confesses, turning his head to look into her eyes, “but this past month he's been after something more. It's not just maiming and killing he's interested in now.”

She watches him and it suddenly dawns on her what he means. “Because of what happened... on the boat,” she whispers, watching him nod, the pain clearly visible in his eyes. “Oh Harry,” she sighs with feeling, lifting her hand up to cup his cheek. “I wish you'd never seen that,” she declares, hating that he's suffering too because of what happened.

“I wish I'd been quicker off the mark. I wish I'd killed the bastard before he could lay a single finger on you,” he growls fiercely. “I'll never forgive myself for what I let him do to you, Ruth.”

“You didn't _let_ him do _anything_ , Harry,” she protests. “There was nothing you could have done differently. You did your best. We both did. We had a plan and it worked. Your plan worked and we got out of there in one piece. I wasn't raped and you didn't drown. And then we made love and look how far we've come, how much we've gained, how happy we are. Yesterday was one of the happiest days of my life, Harry, and I have _you_ to thank for it.” She gazes at him earnestly and watches as his eyes soften and he gives her a small smile.

“Mine too, Ruth,” he says softly, reaching forward to kiss her forehead lovingly and wrapping his arms around her.

“They'll go away eventually,” she mumbles into his chest, after a few moments, seeking to reassure herself as much as him. “The nightmares I mean. Mine are getting better. They're not as frequent, especially when we sleep together, share a bed I mean.”

She feels him smile and hears him murmur, “Mine have been less frequent too lately when we've shared a bed.”

“I guess we'll have to spend every night together then,” she replies, feeling herself blush as he pulls back to look at her.

“Ruth... are you suggesting we live together?” he asks cautiously, after a moment of silence.

“No,” she says, panicking a little. “I mean, not yet... _eventually_... but we don't need to rush into anything, do we? I was just thinking we could... work out a schedule or something so we could... sleep in the same bed... most nights.”

She gives him an apologetic look as she lifts her eyes to his and is relieved to see he's not upset by her words and how fast she must appear to be back-pedalling. In fact, if anything, he looks pleased. “You'd have to bring some of your things here then,” he murmurs huskily. “I can't have you borrowing all my clothes all the time.”

“And you'd better leave a few things at mine too so you don't have to keep resorting to taking things out of your emergency kit in the car,” she smiles shyly in return.

He grins, he can't seem to help himself. “I love you,” he declares, reaching down to kiss her softly. When he pulls back, his gaze is darker and more intense, and she can feel her body begin to respond rapidly to the way he's looking at her. “You know what else helps me sleep well?” he asks huskily, his gaze dropping to her lips again.

“Sex,” she whispers, watching his lips curl up in a smirk.

“Right first time, Ms Evershed,” he says, drawing her to him for another kiss. “I want you,” he murmurs when they pull up for air. “Let me make love to you, Ruth.”

“No,” she replies a little breathlessly.

“No?” he asks, leaning in to kiss her again and pulling back to look at her. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she sighs, watching his face fall. “You made love to me twice last night, Harry, which means it's _my_ turn to make love to _you_. Don't you think?”

He smiles, nodding his head in agreement as he murmurs, “All right though I'm not sure I see the difference. I thought we made love to each other.”

“That's true,” she concedes, “but there's something I've been dying to do for months now, Harry, and I never get the chance.”

“What's that?” he asks a little breathlessly and it pleases her no end.

She smiles enigmatically and gets up before leaning down to whisper in his ear, “Taste you.” Then she pulls back and holds his gaze boldly, noting with great satisfaction how dark his eyes have become and how laboured his breathing. “Shall we?” she asks and isn't surprised when he doesn't hesitate to follow her upstairs. 


	43. Epilogue

_Seven years later_

 

“Harry,” she sighs, “are you going to tell me where we're going yet?”

“Patience, Ruth. Patience,” he replies, frowning as he peers up ahead through the wind-shield. “We're almost there. Ah! Here it is.”

He turns right into an unpaved, bumpy track and they continue for some time along it before they pass a bend in the road and she finally recognises where they are. “Oh, Harry,” she sighs, smiling at him as he moves forward a few more yards and parks the car.

He turns to her and grins before he says, “Come on,” and gets out of the car. She watches him walk round to her door and pull it open, feeling her heart overflow with love for him as he offers her his hand to help her out. He's such a wonderful, gentle man, she thinks as she takes his hand gratefully and lets him lead her through the garden gate and towards the cottage door. Once there, however, she's surprised that he doesn't ring the doorbell as she expects, but instead he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys, fitting one into the lock and opening the door.

“Harry?” she asks uncertainly, but he just smiles at her, his face begging her to trust him, so she steps through the open door and walks along the hall into the kitchen. It looks much the same as it ever had, except that the table and chairs are missing and the counters are all clear of things. “What's going on, Harry? Where's Fred?” she asks as he follows her into the room.

“He's selling,” he explains softly. “I saw this advertised a few weeks ago, while you were... recovering, and I came up to see it. He was still living here at the time and we had a nice long chat. Turns out he was in the army, did you know that?”

“No,” she shakes her head, moving over to the window to look out, “but that explains why his daughter joined up. He told me she'd been killed in action,” she says softly, “and that his wife died shortly after of a broken heart.”

He nods and moves to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her. “They used to come here when Kate, that's his daughter, was a child. They both loved it, but his wife, Ellie, only put up with the isolation and lack of amenities for their sakes. He had the bathtub installed for her.” She smiles as she leans back against him listening, remembering the bath they'd shared all those years ago. “He said he moved here permanently after they both passed, but he's getting too old and it's too isolated for him to stay here alone. He said his sister passed away recently, and her daughter's a single mother and struggling to cope with everything on her own, so he's going to move down there to help his niece and her children.”

“That's nice of him,” she whispers.

“I got the feeling he didn't want to sell this place, but he has to if he wants to move,” Harry murmurs. “But he told me, he'd be happy if we bought it. It would set his mind at ease.”

She twists in his arms then, searching his gaze. “What do you think, Ruth?” he asks softly. “I know it's not the cottage we saw ourselves sharing in Kent. I'm sorry I wasn't on top of things after you were... hurt and I let it slip through our fingers, but-”

“It's perfect, Harry,” she smiles.

“Really?” he asks, his gaze hopeful.

“Really,” she nods and presses her lips against his in a soft, loving kiss. Then she pulls back and slips her arms around him as she cuddles into his embrace, murmuring, “You wonderfully sentimental man.”

He chuckles at that, saying, “He wanted to know if you'd be joining me here.”

“Fred?” she asks, pulling back to look at him.

He nods. “Then he asked me if I'd made an honest woman out of you yet.”

“And what did you tell him?” she smiles.

“I said, I'd tried,” he shrugs.

She laughs at that, shaking her head at him.

“What?” he asks with a frown. “It's true.”

“I suppose it is,” she smiles, “though I'm not sure it counts. You thought I was dying at the time.”

He purses his lips and looks away, his face serious and she immediately regrets her teasing remark. She hadn't meant to hurt him or ruin the moment for them. “I'm sorry,” she whispers, reaching her hand up to his chin and gently guiding his face towards hers. “I'm sorry, Harry.”

“You know I'm not very good at that sort of thing, Ruth,” he says quietly.

“You're not so bad, Harry,” she smiles softly, “and you're quite wonderful in other things, so it really doesn't matter. No one's perfect. Do you _want_ us to get married?”

He looks startled that she's asked him that. “Do _you_?” he answers.

“I don't mind,” she shrugs. “It's never been something that I've felt I need to do, Harry. For me, the commitment and the love between us is enough. I don't need the ceremony, the dress, a ring and a piece of paper to tell me that we love each other and want to spend the rest of our lives together. I know that already, but if you want that, I'd be happy to do it... for you.”

“I don't need it either, Ruth,” he smiles. “All I need is you, right here, in my arms.”

“See what I mean?” she grins. “Good at other things.”

He kisses her then, a long, drawn out kiss, full of promise of things to come. When he pulls back, she sighs, “I do love you, Harry. So very, very much.”

“Me too, my Ruth,” he whispers in reply before they both turn to gaze out the window at the beautiful landscape before them that is soon to be their home, feeling like the luckiest people alive as they hold each other close and contemplate their future here, away from MI-5. “We're going to be so happy here, Ruth,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against her temple. “I can feel it in my bones.”

 


End file.
